


words unspoken

by DittyWitty



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Depressed Steve Rogers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, READ AUTHORS NOTE PLEASE, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Steve Goes to Therapy, pre war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 12:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18388775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWitty/pseuds/DittyWitty
Summary: Steve Rogers and how he lives, learns, and loves.





	words unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY!!! THIS IS AN UNCOMPLETED WIP!!!!!! IT IS NOT FINISHED!!!! There is a part in the middle of the story and I'm only publishing this beacuse twitter asked me too. I abandoned this wip months ago because I just kinda hate the story and it's not my passion project anymore but it's just sitting in my google docs collecting metaphorical dust. This has had some editing in the beginning but otherwise this is unedited baby ! Also, this is NOT !!! a reflection of my writing. like it's a rough draft. Please dont be like "wow she sucks" I mean, you can say "wow this fic sucks" and I would agree with you so. There's that. With that being said, enjoy? or don't. I mean, you probally clicked off because who would want to read 43k words of garbage. 
> 
> Wow, I'm rambling anyway follow me on tumblr @ DittyWitty and follow me on twitter @buckorunski

 

  _It’s a late night. He doesn’t know what he’s even doing anymore. Maybe logically, he shouldn’t be taking on a man twice his size, but Steve lets his annoyance get the better of him. Sure, he’s fought men over less, but fighting over something as minuscule as yelling in a theater isn’t exactly noble. He’s too young and immature to think to back down, to not pick fights he won’t win._

 

_So, he tells the man to shut up, not even thinking about his asthma, or his frail bones, his bad back, his left ear that dulls the loud streets of Brooklyn. Not until it’s too late to take his words back._

 

_He waits in the theater in an attempt to delay his inevitable beating. Maybe he's cowardly, but not as much as the six foot tall sandy blonde man who was about to beat his skinny ass in an alley._

 

_He shakes his head and walks out of the theater lobby after he realizes it’s getting late, his Ma will be expecting him home. Knowing she will ask questions when she sees his split lip and bruised cheekbones, but what meek excuse could he give this time? “Oh, Hi Ma, sorry I got my stupid ass beat in an alleyway, but there was some dick being a damn bully, what was I supposed to do?”_

 

_She’d probably wash his mouth out with soap for using such vulgar language, but she would clean his wounds afterward, and brush his hair back giving him eyes filled with love with a dash of sadness. Not pity, never pity, only worry for her son who never seems to be able to back out of a fight._

 

_Almost on cue, he feels strong hands grab the collar of his cheap button up, forcing him into a dark alleyway he’s far too familiar with by now._

 

_Steve doesn’t throw the first punch. He never does._

 

_The man throws the first hit, his fist impacting with Steve’s face, hitting hard. Yeah, it hurts. But it’s nothing he hasn’t felt before, and he’ll be damned before he lets the asshole know it._

 

_Steve tries to defend himself; he really does. He gets maybe a couple of punches in, but not without hitting the filthy alley ground far too many times. The man is standing above Steve, and they both know he’s about to beat the dead skinny horse that is Steve Rogers._

 

_The man is a coward, only fighting and throwing for the sake of feeling more powerful. Steve rolls his eyes at the thought. Imagine if he was like Steve, 5’4 with shitty lungs and all bones with no muscles._

 

_The punch never comes._

 

_Another man comes up from behind the coward, grabbing him and punching him square in the face, knocking him down. He moves towards Steve quickly, who is currently trying to hurry back on his elbows, looking at him with wide eyes and fear-filled anticipation. Who is this guy? Is he saving Steve or is he only waiting to get his turn in pummelling Steve into the pavement?_

 

_He quickly grabs Steve pulling him up, and runs, pulling Steve with him._

 

_“C’mon!” He yells. So Steve runs with him, asthma be damned._

 

_Eventually, they find a different alley, and by then Steve is trying to catch his breath and not have an asthma attack, looking even weaker in the man’s eye._

 

_He looks up, taking in the sight of the man above him. The man’s blue eyes hold no pity, only a twinkle of admiration. He almost doesn’t recognize it, mainly because the only person who looks at him like that is his ma. He has dark brown hair, short and swooped a bit to the side. He has a strong jaw and a sharp nose, a bit of stubble. He looks a bit older than Steve, or more so other 16-year-old boys. Steve s constantly looks younger than he is in reality. Now, Steve’s wondering why he’s staring so much at this guy; his Ma taught him better than that._

 

_“You okay?” He asks Steve, who currently has bruises all over his face and is wheezing, so it’s a stupid question. Steve waves him off, “I’m fine.”_

 

_“I’m James Buchanan Barnes, but only my ma calls me that.” He introduces himself, a crooked smile on his face._

 

_“Well, I’m not ya ma, so what am I supposed to call you?”_

 

_“Bucky.” He outstretched his hand, and Steve shook it._

 

_“Steve Rogers. Thank you, by the way.” Steve introduces himself, trying not to wince from his countless injuries._

 

_“Eh, don’t worry about it. That guy’s an asshole anyway.” Bucky waved him off, walking away. Steve stood in his place, unsure of what to do next.  Bucky stopped, looking over his shoulder and back at Steve._

 

_“Well? Are ya coming?” Bucky asks, like he’s taunting Steve, but it doesn’t feel malicious._

 

_“To where?”_

 

_“I dunno. We’ll find out later.” Bucky shrugged._

 

_So, Steve follows him. From that day on, he never stopped. Bucky did the same, unable to draw away from the man that was Steven Grant “Mother Fucking” Rogers. Those were Bucky’s words though, not Steve’s._

 

_-_

 

With thanks to serums and ice, it’s 2014 and Steve’s alive. He’s working for S.H.I.E.L.D now, living in DC. He likes the city enough, but he couldn’t always stay there, just sitting. So sometimes he went and ventured to Maryland, or headed south towards Virginia. Sometimes he hops on the metro, riding on subway trains that used to not be able to afford, and getting off at random spots.

 

He was starting to learn the names of the parts of the city. Sometimes he would hop on the red line, stop at Dupont Circle, and walk around the circle over and over again, watching the different cars and listening to the honks.

 

Most people didn’t bother him, because most weren’t looking. It was the city of minding your business, and he liked that. Sometimes he would stop at the park in the middle of the circle, but not for long; he couldn’t bear just sitting there, watching everything move around him, doing nothing and not mattering.

 

He already did that in the ice, let the world change around him, frozen in time and unknowing. He hated it.

 

There’s a comic book store near Dupont Circle, one that Bucky would have loved, would’ve spent hours just combing through the science fiction parts of it, maybe laughed at the old comics of Captain “fucking” America. He contemplated going inside, looking at the old comics made as propaganda and seeing the worn out image that carried its way over to the next century. Even with all of those ideas weighing on him, he still couldn’t move his feet to go inside, so he’s just standing there looking like a damn idiot. Finally, after his feet stopped feeling like bricks that even he couldn’t lift, he started walking. He doesn’t care where. Steve just had to get away.

 

He comes across a hole in the wall vinyl shop; it was small and lacked customers, but the store filled to the brim with records and CDs. He wore his baseball cap and looked at the “oldies.” He didn’t have a record player, but it seemed they were making a comeback. He thought of buying one, but the reminders of his past just seemed to hurt him more.

 

He bought one.

 

In a way, it helped him heal, if he even knew what that felt like, yet opened more wounds he thought he had forgotten. It seemed the only time he could sit still was when he was listening to the couple pieces of vinyl he had collected. He would close his eyes and imagine, or sometimes remember. If he focused hard enough, he could take himself back to when things were more straightforward, and it was just him, his thin wrists, and Bucky. Natasha called him a hipster, and he called her an asshole. They bantered like that.

 

Sometimes he takes his motorcycle and hits the road. Going on 66 or 395, hating that he knows the names of the streets now, and goes South into the suburbs of Virginia.

 

Driving on the highway is quite an experience. Everyone seems to have the same death wish he denies that he has, even if Natasha tells him otherwise. They drive so fast, giving Steve an excuse to do the same, and it feels like everyone is an enemy on that road, all pitted against each other.

 

They’re ruthless. The other day he saw a small car riding the ass of a semi.

 

Like he said, a deathwish.

 

He likes driving. It’s relaxing for him, the harsh cold force of the wind against his skin makes him feel, and the constant moving through traffic gives him something to do. Driving in the DMV area, as the locals call it, is crazy if he's honest. He thought that maybe once he left DC that people would let loose and not drive so recklessly. Here, people don’t seem to care about the rules or the speed limit. They have places to be.

 

Steve has nowhere to be.

 

The suburbs are weird. Steve doesn’t remember the names of the places; he doesn’t have to. He drives by the houses, the townhomes, the apartments, thinking about the life he could have had.

 

Maybe with Peggy, even if he didn’t love her in the way, he should have. He knew he was supposed to, expected to get married and have a life, maybe had a kid, maybe two. He couldn’t help but feel a bit empty when she gazed at him, and that’s when he wondered; is it Peggy or is it the women?

 

Steve didn’t get any attention before the serum, and he assumed the lack of spark and butterflies caused by the rejection, a defense mechanism of some sorts. He couldn’t be queer. Looking and wanting Bucky all the time was something out of availability because he’s lonely and Bucky was the only person he was ever around. It didn’t have to do with his strong jaw, prominent features, his dark hair that’s just the right shade, his eyes that were a completely different art in its own. Not because he was so beautiful that Steve felt like he had to capture on paper every time he looked at Bucky, to save for later.

 

He was just lonely, not queer.

 

But he is. Of course, he fucking is, because the first time a woman even glanced in his direction, he felt nothing.

 

Peggy knew. She was too perceptive not to. In that bar, when he was trying to drown his sorrows in liquor that would forever fail at doing the one damn thing it was supposed to do. She walked towards him slowly with a concerned caution. He’s not an idiot; he knew that she knew his secret. He didn’t want to look at her, look at the disgust and distaste she would now have for him; ruining the friendship of the one other person that saw Steve for who he was. The rest were all gone, taken away from him by falling, sickness, and bullets. But Peggy wasn’t like that.

 

He still thinks about that. He still thinks about her. He still thinks about him, more freely this time.

 

Men could get married now. He saw a queer couple, and no one batted an eye. Maybe that could have been him and Bucky; if he wasn’t fucking dead. And even then, when Steve had him, he knew better. Bucky never saw him as more than a brother, and that was something he accepted long ago. He feels sick just thinking about it, just thinking about his friend, no, his dead friend like that. An illness that doesn’t come in colds or pneumonia or tuberculosis, but in guilt, regret, and emptiness.

 

He hits the road, vowing never to come back.

 

But he only seems to break the promises he makes to himself.

 

So, he would drive back, sometimes monthly, sometimes a couple of times a week. He stares at the homes, roaming the streets and the grocery stores, even the ones that confuse him with the beeps over and over and over again. He still goes back.

 

_-_

 

_Bucky was over at his place again. Or more so, he was assuming. No one besides his Ma comes to check on Steve when he’s sick, or just in general. He hears the shuffling of footsteps, knowing Bucky was about to come to check on him, he moves his gaze so it doesn’t look like he was waiting for him._

 

_“Motherfucker, you look terrible,” Bucky says to him, his face laced with concern._

 

_“Thanks.” Steve deadpans or, at least tries to, it comes out more like a croak. Bucky shakes his head and goes to grab a chair, coming back quickly and positioning it next to Steve’s bed. He sits down, getting comfortable. He reaches over and feels Steve’s forehead, his cold hand a stark contrast to Steve’s burning fever._

 

_“Ya know what I mean.” Bucky waves him off, taking a book out of his bag. Steve doesn’t know what else to say, so he says nothing. Steve takes advantage of Bucky’s focus on the journal in his lap, taking the time to stare at Bucky, seeing how he scribbles his illegible handwriting that Bucky never cared to fix despite his teachers’ many protests. They don’t say anything for a while, and Steve decides to stop looking at him because in his illness-dulled mind he forgot that Bucky could probably see him looking out of the corner of his eye. He has two illnesses at this moment — one of the mind and one of the body._

 

_Maybe his countless physical ailments are a punishment; he doesn’t know._

 

_He knows he shouldn’t feel this way. He knows he shouldn’t look at Bucky the same way Bucky looks at dames. He knows he shouldn’t feel butterflies in his stomach when he locks eyes with Bucky or when he throws a harmless arm over Steve’s shoulder. He knows this, and he still feels it, no matter how he tries so fucking often not to._

 

_Maybe the sickness he feels inside himself finally caught up to him, showing on the outside._

 

_Maybe he deserves it._

 

_Bucky’s almost eighteen, only a couple more months now. He’s been done with school for a while now and dropped out a couple of months ago to work more. He’ll start making more money, start saving more, find a nice girl, and settle down. The way he should, how men should act. Men who don’t look at their best friend’s smile and have to bite their tongues from saying three words that will end up with him either dead in a fucking alley, a fucking ditch, or with their face beat in beyond recognition. Maybe he’ll find an even worse fate; locked up in prison, forever known as a queer._

 

_It is not known as men who are tall and muscular and that have all the dames throwing themselves at them, trying for a dance. The girls who laugh with them, never at them. Men who aren’t sick all the time, and can run without passing out. Men who know how to dance. Men whose only companion isn’t their Ma or their best friend. The same best friend that they can’t dare to touch or love or entertain fantasies that will never happen, what can’t happen._

 

_Steve doesn’t know what it’s like to be a man. He’ll most likely die, soon, with the way things are looking, without ever knowing._

 

_-_

 

He tries to sit still again, instead of moving his body from place to place, he moves his hands. He buys a sketchbook from the nearest bookstore and goes home, trying to push down that unconscious guilt from buying something that isn’t food or medication.

 

He draws what comes to mind first.

 

He draws lips, telling himself that it’s no one in particular, only something conjured from his imagination. But the lips are exactly like the ones he never stopped thinking about, the ones pink and a bit thin, but still plump. He forces himself to stop, moving on to draw the war, the bullets, the blood, and the bodies in trenches.

 

When he finishes, staring back at the horrors he created, he realizes that what he holds inside his mind is better off staying inside, instead of put out there for the world to see. Or more so for Steve to see, like hell if he would ever show this to anyone.

 

_-_

 

_New York’s Summers are hot, too hot. It doesn’t bother Steve as much as it does for Bucky, for his thin body doesn’t run as hot as Bucky’s much larger one. So Bucky takes off his shirt when they’re in their shared apartment together, which, that does bother Steve. They’re sitting out on the fire escape, with a blanket on the floor so the hot metal doesn’t burn their skin. Ma’s not around anymore to yell at them for getting the nice quilt all dirty._

 

_He has his sketchbook out and Bucky’s smoking a cigarette, passing it to Steve with repetitive motions, back and forth, back and forth. Steve doesn’t often smoke, only sometimes if Bucky’s offering or if he needs to get the edge off. Steve’s sketching the building in front of them, and Bucky’s rambling about some dame._

 

_“Oh, Ruth’s real nice Steve. You’ll love her; she’s got nice eyes and a tiny waist, real cute one.” Bucky says through smoke, exhaling deeply. Correction-- Bucky’s talking about a girl for Steve._

 

_“Oh yeah? And what did ya tell her about me this time?” Steve barks back at him before taking a drag, looking at Bucky with a raised eyebrow. Bucky looks at him for a second before answering;_

 

_“Only the truth.” Bucky reaches for the cigarette and Steve hands it to him, their fingers brushing and sending sparks through Steve’s body that he can’t blame on the heat. He feels like a damn teenager, all butterflies in his stomach and anxious feelings that he’s finding himself to be addicted to._

 

_Everyone has a vice. Steve’s just got a vice that could end up with him dead, but ain’t that where the fun comes from?_

_“Short Asthmatic that bites off more than he can chew?” Steve raises an eyebrow, and Bucky laughs a bit, but not at him. Never at him._

 

_“I just told her exactly what she needed to know.” Bucky finishes the cig, putting it out on the brick wall behind him and flicking it off the fire escape._

 

_“A lie?”_

 

_“No! God, you’re so stubborn. Look, I just told her how you got nice eyes and a knack for drawing, with a big ‘ol heart and will treat her right. Who could say no to that?” Bucky moves yo sit across from Steve, looking him in the eye and Steve looks back, trying to listen and not drown in those light blue eyes._

 

_“A lot of people, actually,” Steve mumbles, and Bucky still has that stupid smile on his face, the one that he had just started to sketch, flipping to the back of his sketchbook, looking at Bucky even if he didn’t need to anymore, drawing Bucky came naturally, a muscle memory at this point, maybe even a compulsion. He doesn’t have enough money to buy another sketchbook for drawing Bucky, that would be ridiculous and wasteful. So whenever he gets those feelings in his stomach, or even somewhere a little lower than that, he flips to the back and sketches Bucky. He convinces himself it’s for Bucky’s sake, getting all those ideas out of his head, so that he doesn’t do something stupid like kiss the damn guy and ruin everything, damning them both._

 

_“C’mon! It will be fun! Maybe you’ll even score a little something more than just a dance.” Bucky tries to convince him, shoving him a bit. Steve knows what Bucky’s doing, trying to make him feel better. In any other situation, he would have been grateful for the extra effort, but the more Bucky pushes girls, the more hopeless Steve feels._

 

_How do you tell your best friend that his endless search to find the perfect dame is pointless because the only one you ever wanted was right in front of you?_

 

_“We both know that won’t happen.” Steve shakes his head, scowling at Bucky, his voice sounding more pathetic than he meant it to be. Bucky stills a frown._

 

_“Ya don’t know that, you’re great Steve, really. They just don’t see it, cause they looking for some perfect guy that doesn’t exist.” Bucky explains, as if it’s as simple as water being wet, or the sky being blue._

 

_“They go for you!” Steve points out, exasperated, gesturing at Bucky with his pencil in his hand, though in his head, he quietly agrees. Not that he’d ever tell Bucky such a thing._

 

_“Well, I am the perfect guy.” Bucky jokes and Steve rolls his eyes._

 

_“Seriously, I don’t want to go. I’m not even going to get my hopes up.”_

 

_“Please? For me.” Bucky pleads him, his voice small. It’s weird, and Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. So he doesn’t think about it. He can’t._

 

_“Maybe,” Steve smirks._

 

_He goes._

 

_They’re wearing their Sunday Best clothes, even though it’s a humid Friday night and Bucky did his hair all nice. Steve’s trying hard not to think about how he looks. Instead, he daydreams about Bucky being the one taking him out on the date, holding his hand while dancing and calling him baby. It’s a very nice thought. They walked the short distance towards the dance hall and talked each other's ears off._

 

_The girls are there waiting for them, and Ruth, who did indeed did have a tiny waist, tried to hide her disappointment when she saw it wasn’t a shadow that was walking towards her, but her date. She acts cordial, for the most part, saying hello and all that. She really is beautiful, tiny waist and red hair with brown eyes to match. He almost pities her. They’re both seeming to be stuck on a date that they don’t want to be a part of. And besides, Bucky’s the only one for him._

 

_He knows he isn’t very attractive. He doesn’t like to be reminded of it every 30 seconds, or every time Bucky brings him on one of these pointless blind dates and forces Steve to stare the disappointment that always reaches the dame’s face. He doesn’t blame themes, they’re the ones who have to look at the short blonde guy with a crooked back and a nose to match from the number of times he got his face beat in. Sure, he has nice eyes, he can admit that Bucky has told him enough times before, but what are the girls supposed to do? Just look at his eyes the entire date?_

 

_Of course not._

 

_However, Katherine looks happy enough to see Bucky, wrapping her arms around Bucky’s neck and kissing him on the cheek, and introduces not only herself to Steve, but Steve to Ruth. They say their hello’s and start walking in together, Steve with Ruth, and Bucky with Katherine._

 

_Ruth leaves his side as soon as they get inside, joining Bucky and Katherine, Bucky’s enthusiastic date. He hurts a bit at the gesture, for if Ruth doesn’t want him, then how can he expect Bucky to?_

 

_He sits at the bar, sipping on cheap liquor that he can’t afford, watching Bucky, far away in more ways than one. He looks at the way he twirls her around, holds her petite hand in his larger, more calloused ones. Bucky catches his eye and smiles at him. Steve smiles back, tipsy enough to let himself do so. He sits there for about a half an hour, not just watching Bucky, but watching the other couples. Watching the real men._

 

_After a while, the ache in his heart becomes too much to bear, so he pays the tab, trying not to focus on his thin wrists, trying not to want them to be held the way Bucky held Katherine’s. He slips out the building without notice and walks home. He catches a look at himself in the mirror while he’s tucking himself into his bed, staring at the person he really is. Until he can’t take it anymore and crawls into bed, he closes his eyes and tries to think of anything other than the world he lives in now. Usually, his mind wanders to thoughts of Bucky, if he's honest. Tonight his mind still tries to wander into that part of his brain, but he attempts to pull it back to something else, something other than Bucky._

 

_His head had only been running around and chasing its tail for a couple of minutes when he hears Bucky walk into the apartment. Not only does he not want to hear Bucky’s bullshit pep talk right now, but he’s also still a bit drunk and doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret._

 

_“Steve?” Bucky calls out in their apartment,_

 

_Steve doesn’t respond, trying to pretend to be asleep. Though he knows it won’t work, he’s a bit too tipsy be convincing right now._

 

_“Steve, get up.” Bucky taps him on the shoulder, jostling him a little bit._

 

_“No.” He responds, but it’s a bit muffled against the pillow. Bucky seems to get the message, though knowing Bucky, he probably won’t accept it._

 

_“No,” Bucky responds, curt. He taps Steve’s shoulder again, using more force this time._

 

_“No?” Steve turns towards him now, staring at those eyes. Even in the dark, he can still see those hard steel blue eyes, the street lights that peaked through the windows gave him a bit of light._

 

_“Yeah, I’m sayin’ no to your no. Stop bein’ so sad, and come get drunk with me.” Bucky commands, though it’s phrased as an offer, there’s something in Bucky’s tone that’s telling Steve that he doesn’t really have a choice._

 

_“I don’t feel like going out right now, sick n’ tired of your dames.” Steve protests._

 

_“What? No, Steve, just you, me, ‘n this shitty apartment. C’mon, if ya give up every time the night is all shitty, then every night is gonna be shit. So at least try to make it a good ‘ol night with ya buddy?”_

 

_“What about Katherine?” Steve asks, his voice sounding tentative and soft, not as he wanted it to, which is great, honesty. Now he not only looks pathetic, but he sounds like it too._

 

_“She ain’t nothing to me,” Bucky explains, which Steve finds a bit hard to believe with the way Katherine wrapped her slim arms around Bucky’s neck and with the way he smiled back. That doesn’t look like just anything._

 

_“You looked like ya were having a good time.”_

 

_“Maybe, but I know I would have a great one wit ya.” Bucky slowly smiles at him, looking at him the same way he looks at dames, if not more intense. It makes him feel warm._

 

_He gets out of bed, taking Bucky’s hand and greedily absorbing more warmth._

 

_-_

 

_It’s late. Bucky had left a couple of hours ago for a double date that Steve refused to attend, and while he was gone, Steve cleaned the apartment like a madman, then sketched Bucky more times than he’s willing to admit, well, not that he’d admit it in the first place._

 

_Steve hears the lock being jostled. Bucky stumbles through, not even thinking about Steve’s outstretched legs that lay on their couch, letting himself collapse. Luckily, Steve has quick reflexes and moves his legs out of the way before Bucky can crush his frail bones. He quickly shuts his sketchbook and places it to the side, looking at Bucky._

 

_“How was your date?” Steve asks awkwardly. There was a part of him that was unsure if he wanted to hear the steamy details of Bucky’s night on the town._

 

_“ ‘mhm fine. You shoulda ‘ome.” Bucky slurs, lying down contently, his stomach was pressed against the couch, hanging partially off it. His position causing his dress shirt ride up, exposing his belly. Steve forced his eyes to snap up. Bucky’s voice almost sounds sad, but Steve can’t think about that right now. He needs to focus on making sure Bucky’s okay. So, he grabs Bucky’s arm, in a feeble attempt to pull Bucky upwards._

 

_“No! I ‘on’t wanna.” Bucky protests, his voice coming out in a whine._

 

_“Buck, please. I’m tired.” Steve crosses his arms, looking down at the perfect mess that is James Buchanan Barnes, halfway off the couch and slowly sliding down. Bucky gives a sad smile with crinkled blue eyes and drags himself up. In his drunken state, he moves too quickly and stumbles. Steve catches him, having the wind knocked out of him slightly, and guides him toward something their beds, inhaling the scent of bittersweet whiskey and cigarette smoke, a familiar smell. Bucky detaches himself from Steve, clumsily undressing and Steve takes that as his cue to crawl into his own bed and face the wall._

 

_Then, he feels Bucky’s heat and weight make its way into Steve’s bed. Steve’s body stills and Bucky sighs contently, pressing up against Steve’s back. It wasn’t completely a new concept for them to share a bed, they had done it occasionally when they couldn’t beat the cold. But even then, it was a rare occurrence._

 

_Bucky takes it upon himself to scoot forward, making matters infinitely worse. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of Steve’s neck, his breath tickling Steve’s skin. Bucky’s probably so far gone that he doesn't even realize that the frail body he’s holding doesn’t belong to a Rose or Penelope, but his best friend, Steve._

 

_“Uh, Bucky?” Steve says, his voice quiet. He’s almost afraid to speak and ruin this moment, the one that was practically handed to him on a silver platter, allowing him to cuddle with Bucky and get away with it. Bucky gives another one of those sighs and snuggles in closer, this time slinging an arm over Steve’s torso. Steve pauses, waiting for Bucky to pull away. Instead, Bucky’s breaths even out and deepen out after a minute or two. Bucky nuzzles his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck again, sighing softly and holding Steve tighter._

 

_He knows he should push Bucky away, should make him go back to his bed. For Bucky’s drunk, he doesn’t know what he wants. But Steve doesn’t do any of that. He runs his nimble fingers up and down the forearm that rests over Steve’s torso, soft and with a feather-light touch. He repeats the motion, over and over again, getting bolder with his touch each time, the touches become more apparent. He’s going to soak this moment up for the rest of his pathetic life, and then plead ignorance when he wakes up, saying he was already asleep. So, he lets himself soak up the warmth that is Bucky and tries to memorize the feeling of Bucky pressed up against his back because from all the times from when they did this before when it was too cold for Steve to even think. He doesn’t want to fall asleep just yet, doesn’t want this moment to end, but his eyes feel heavy, maybe from the calming imaginary feeling of someone touching him like this and loving him. It’s a fantasy, one that he usually doesn't allow himself to even think about._

 

_This time, he does._

 

_-_

 

Steve starts to move on, tries to get over everything. He stops moving as much, tries to pick up some new hobbies to forget about the past.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

_-_

 

_Bucky dragged him out on another double date. He doesn’t know why he keeps on doing it, why he keeps on insisting. It hurts, the pale reminder that Bucky doesn’t want him, not like that. Bucky shouldn’t even bother, one look at Steve is enough to turn women away from him, seeing his face and body and maybe his personality wasn’t enough, he doesn’t know._

 

_Bucky walks into their room, looking sharp and beautiful, his eyes crinkling and sparkling with excitement. He’s wearing his best clothes, a button but and slacks, a jacket on over it. The shirt hugs his body in all the right ways, and his smile fits so perfectly on his face._

 

_It kills Steve, the envy and want that conflicts and stirs inside of him._

 

_They make their way to the dance, Bucky rambling about the girl, Steve zoning out a bit. Usually, he loves to listen to Bucky, hearing the smooth deep voice that matches his broad stature. This time he doesn’t think he can take it, hearing about how amazing the dame is and he knows, he knows that it’s going to be a success for Bucky. At the same time, Steve knows that he’s never gonna succeed in the way Bucky will, and for some reason, it hits him harder tonight._

 

_The girl he’s paired up with is a sweet little girl, a bit shorter than him somehow with short brown hair in a bob that he thought went out of style in the 20s, but pushes it aside. She greets him a small smile, but he can see through the tight lips that scream disappointment._

 

_Bucky smiles at his girl, her name slipping Steve’s mind. His date’s name is Anna, and she doesn’t say much as they walk into the dance hall, keeping a distance from Steve. She looks at the dancing folk, looking at Steve with doubt, guessing that he can’t dance for shit. Unlike Bucky; who tonight, seems even more perfect._

 

_She asks him if he wants to dance, and tells her with a small smile that he’s not much of a dancer, but if she really wants to, they could, as long as she doesn’t mind bruised toes. It’s a joke, one that Bucky and Steve always told. She doesn’t take it that way, shaking her head slightly with her posture changing._

 

_“Bar?” She asks, her voice dripping in dread like she doesn’t want to be here as much as Steve does. Steve nods, making his way toward the bar with her trailing behind him. He tries and fails to not think of the deliberate distance she puts between them._

 

_Steve orders whiskey, her ordering a coke, saying she doesn't drink much. He nods at her awkwardly, not knowing what to say._

 

_They exchange small talk, it’s dry and filled with obvious uninterest. She talks about her job as a secretary, complaining a bit too much and Steve only feels like a damn shrink or some shit, being used as someone to vent to. He’s almost grateful for it, at least he doesn't have to talk as much, only nod his head and say “Oh, I get that.” trying to sound sincere._

 

_He glances at Bucky mostly, looking past Anna’s shoulder, who doesn’t seem to notice the lack of eye contact and disinterest. Steve watches as Bucky moves through the dance floor, his steps graceful and his small smiles and close whispers to his date. Bucky notices his gaze once, smiling at Steve, who looks away as soon as possible._

 

_Bucky makes his way over to them, holding his date’s hand as they move past the other couples dancing wildly. Bucky orders a drink, sitting next to Steve on his left, with his date going on Bucky’s right. He realizes that Anna was on his right side, for once being grateful for his poor hearing._

 

_“Having fun?” Bucky inquires, a smirk on his face that was only directed at Steve. Anna takes notice of Bucky’s smirk, misplacing it as a smile for her. She smiles back at him, one that Steve never got._

 

_They all make small talk, Bucky cracking a couple of jokes, trying to encourage Steve to chime in, but Steve can’t bring himself to; he’s already pretty bummed out. Luckily, after about a half hour of painful conversation, Bucky takes notice of Steve’s discomfort and spits out some lame excuse of having work tomorrow, even though they both didn’t. The night had barely begun, but Steve couldn’t wait for it to be over, at least this part of it. He thinks back on Bucky’s words from a long time, about how if you give up on a bad night, then that’s all it will be; a bad night._

 

_So, they walk the girls home, dropping Anna off first, who says a quiet goodbye, a small wave, and a fake smile. Steve tries to hide his dejection, luckily no one seems to notice, with Bucky being too absorbed in his own date._

 

_Bucky’s date, which Steve catches the name of while they walk home, Mary, holds Bucky’s calloused hands and smiles brightly at him. Bucky returns it, and Steve moves to trail behind him, not wanting to look at their happiness anymore._

 

_Instead, he thinks of himself. Of his unattractive appearance and the countless rejections that he receives. What hurts even more, is Bucky’s lack of attention from it, they were supposed to know each other inside and out, so how could he fail to notice this?_

 

_They finally reach Mary’s apartment, and Steve turns away as Bucky necks with her, even though at first it’s hard to turn away from the movement of Bucky’s lips on her, the way his tongue slips inside and nipping at her bottom lip. But eventually, Steve forces himself to face the empty street, staring away. After what seems like forever, he finally stops hearing the sound of them making out, or whatever. He can almost hear the faint whispers that Bucky speaks in her ears, his hearing not good enough to pick up the words. Maybe it’s for the better._

 

_They walk home together, Bucky smiling widely and Steve’s frown stretched even lower on his face. Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. They make it to their apartment, settling on the couch._

 

_“Ya wanna get drunk?” Bucky asks, his eyebrow raised. Steve nods a bit too enthusiastically.  Bucky pulls himself up rather clumsily and grabs the liquor they keep under their sink. They aren’t old enough yet to legally drink, but most of the people at the liquor stores are just trying to make a living, not caring about age or any of that. One more year though, Bucky will be 21, not that it even matters._

 

_About 30 minutes later, half the bottle of whiskey gone and Steve’s skinny body not helping him at all with holding his liquor, already drunk after two or three drinks, he wasn’t keeping track anymore. Bucky was pretty drunk too, but not acting as clumsy as Steve, but that was because he was a lot better at keeping his body together while drunk._

  


_“So, ya like Anna?” Bucky slurs, his words coming out sloppy, and Steve realizes that maybe Bucky’s drunker than he thought, maybe he had drunk a bit more while Steve wasn’t looking. Not that Steve cared._

 

_“‘Nahreally.” Steve confesses, his head falling low._

 

_“I know, I saw ya gettin’ all sad,” Bucky tells him, his voice soft. Steve doesn’t say anything to that._

 

_Bucky doesn’t stop talking though. “She was a ‘eal bitch. I’m ain’t gonna lie.”_

 

_“Bucky! Don’t talk ‘bout women like dat!” Steve scolds him, for his Ma taught him better than that, to never disrespect a woman like that._

 

_“What! It’s da truth. couldn' see how great ya are, she neva gonna fin’ a man” Bucky tells him like it’s the truth or something. But the problem ain’t the girl; the problem is Steve himself._

 

_“She wasn’t ‘rong, I ain’t no catch,” Steve explains, because all he wants is for Bucky to get it, to understand that he’s not attractive, that he’s not Bucky. He just wants Bucky to know the truth, know the reality._

 

_“Dat ain’t true.” Bucky shakes his head, refusing to accept the truth. He’s a damn stubborn one, just like Steve._

 

_“It is! Bucky, I know I ain’t attractive, ‘ot what dames want. I know I got shitty eyesight, but I own a mirror, unfortunately. Ya just keep on settin’ me up on these dates, and I’m just sick and damn tired of being rejected over and fuckin’ over again! Watching ya get them, girls, watching ya succeed while my date pretends to smile at me and comes up wit an’ excuse to leave.” Steve rants, his anger and aggression, and disappointment coming out, all at the wrong time, when it was the last thing he needed._

 

_“Ya don like ‘em?” Bucky practically whimpered, his voice soft and filled with regret._

 

_“Are ya fucking kidding me? Of course, I don’t. And ya keep on draggin’ me to ‘em. I hate ‘em. I hate ‘em, and I hate how ya don’t see it.” Steve snapped, his emotions coming out and eyes feeling weak, almost letting out angry tears._

 

_“I… I didn’t know,” Bucky whispered, looking away from Steve._

 

_“Dat’s ‘cos ya focusin’ on ya own date.” Steve pointed out._

 

_“Well, what do ya want me to do? Focus only on ya?” Bucky asks him. His voice hurt yet angry. Yes, that’s all I fucking want, I want you to hold me and dance with me and whisper in my ear and kiss me goodnight. That’s all I want. Steve screams in his head, trying to hold it all in._

 

_“I don know. I want somebody to actually like me, think I’m attractive, even if I’m not, it’d be nice to feel dat way. Tired of ya takin’ me on these dates so I can be reminded of how ugly I am.” Steve barks at him, but becomes soft at the end, his words feeling heavy and would have never come out if he wasn’t drunk outta his mind._

 

_“Don’t be talkin’ ‘ike dat Steve,” Bucky said softly, his head shaking._

 

_“No, I’m gon talk ‘bout it. I’m not ‘ttractive, don’ lie to me,” Steve objected, still filled with hurt that was about to overflow._

 

_“I ain’t lyin’! You're a damn catch. I’m sorry for takin’ ya out on those dates. Only wanted to find ya a girl, so you can see how great you are and be appreciated. Won’t do it no more, I promise.” Bucky rambled, sounding surer than ever._

 

_“It’s okay Buck. I forgive ya. But ya wrong about one thing; I’m ain’t attractive.” Steve crossed his arms, pouting almost._

 

_“Steve, you ‘re! I think you’re…” Bucky pauses, a look on his face that Steve can’t place. “I think ya beautiful, and ‘hose girls, they blind.”_

 

_Steve chokes on air, surprised at the statement. He doesn’t say anything, unusually silent; he’s always quite a talker when he’s drunk._

 

_“Ya got nice eyes, ‘lue ones, like ya ‘ot all the ‘retty blues ‘nside of ‘em. ‘Den ya got ‘em eyelashes, longer than any dame I’ve ever ‘een. Ya hair, lookin’ so soft, all the time. Wanna run my fingers through ‘em. Ya smile, Steve, it’s brighter ‘den anythin’ I’ve ever seen. Ya collarbones, ya hands, ya ‘eally something. I ain’t lying, ‘ever been good at lyin’ to ya.” Bucky rambles, not looking at Steve with his words slurring more and more, taking sips of whiskey while Steve stares in awe._

 

_Bucky, he saw Steve like that? Saw him as, fuck, beautiful? It didn’t make any damn sense, messing with Steve’s drunken brain. No one saw him like that, but Bucky, he saw Steve, saw something in him. Saw him like Steve saw Bucky; finding beauty in every part of him. Steve looked at Bucky, really looked at him for the millionth time, looking at his dark locks, his broad shoulders, that dip in his chin and his perfect eyes. His pink lips, ones that he had mastered at sketching by now._

 

_Bucky looks at Steve, holding his gaze now. Steve stares at those pretty pink lips, wet from the liquor and remnants of Mary’s red lipstick that stayed put. A couple of drinks ago, they had moved closer to each other, Bucky’s arm slinging over the couch, body angled towards Steve with Steve’s small body curling into the back of the sofa, facing Bucky._

 

_Bucky starts to lean in, and Steve’s heart is racing, because what the fuck is happening right now; Bucky just complimented him, and now he’s leaning in, and--_

 

_But before Steve could put a hand on his chest, tell Bucky that he’s drunk and doesn’t know what he wants, Bucky moves his head to rest on the back of the couch on the cushion. Bucky’s still looking at him like that, with the weird look in his eyes a small smile on his face, his eyes drooping._

  


_  
_ _“Ya gon find a girl someday Steve, I can feel it,” Bucky tells him, putting his hand sloppily on Steve’s shoulder, underestimating his strength and missing slightly. Steve lets out a sigh of relief but still hurt at the statement. Can’t Bucky see? Can’t he see that a dame isn’t what he wants, can’t see that all he ever wanted was Bucky; to hold his hand, to be held by him, to be woken up with playful kisses and other things? Bucky’s it for him. No man and certainly no girl could ever beat him._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky closes his eyes, mouth open and ready to go to sleep. Steve taps his shoulder, trying to wake him up and bring him to his bed. Bucky groans, telling him he don’t wanna get up, something along the lines of that. Steve pushes a little harder, and that makes Bucky shoot up, rather sloppily._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ya a little shit, whadda want?” Bucky peaked one eye open, smiling now._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Time for bed, let's go, ya gon be complaining if ya wake up with a crick in ya neck.” Steve urged, know that Bucky would be a real bitch in the morning._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky rolls his eyes up, or at least tries to, and pulls himself up, stumbling a bit. Steve, who hasn’t yet gotten up, tries the same thing but is unable to keep himself up as Bucky did. Luckily, Bucky caught him, letting Steve lean on him. They make their way to the part of their shoebox of a home where their beds lay,_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve strips his clothes off, avoiding looking at Bucky as he does the same. He feels eyes on his back but doesn’t think too much of it. He collapses on his back, sleep coming to him._ _  
  
_

_Before sleep reaches him, he feels a soft and light touch of calloused fingers running through his hair._ _  
  
_

_-_ _  
_ _  
_ Going to the Smithsonian is a bittersweet thing. There’s an exhibit about him. He went in there once, looking at what they said about him, looking at the half-lies and half-truths. He looks at Bucky and him, a video of them laughing like they aren’t in the middle of a bloody war filled with death and destruction.  
  
The scary thing is the authenticity of the smiles they shared, the look of love in Steve’s eyes, and he almost laughs at the fact that they didn't see it. There were probably millions of people who's seen that looped video by now, but none of them noticed.  
  
Or maybe they didn’t comment on it in fear of ruining Captain America’s perfect image with the notion that he’s gay. Not queer, he can’t use that word anymore. Gay doesn’t feel as heavy as the word queer does on his tongue. It makes it easier for him to accept it, it isn’t filled with hate.  
  
He moves over to the Air and Space Museum of the Smithsonian, thinking how much Bucky would have eaten this up, with his love of science and all things having to do with the future.  
  
It was beautiful, the way Bucky’s eyes lit up looking at the failed flying car back at the science fair all those years ago. If only he could see the world now, see what it’s become. See the planes hanging from the ceiling, seeing the walkthrough exhibits about space, something he hadn’t thought too much about before then, mostly because they didn’t really know much back then.  
  
He walks into the art portion, looking at the new art that was created, the old art that was found. Bucky might have laughed, looking at the splattered canvas, but would try to hold back in respect of Steve, who would have stared at it for as long as his frail body would let him. It wouldn’t have been that long anyway. _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve’s eighteen when he lets himself think about it for the first time. In the past, he would have cut the thought off before he could even think the words, even if it ghosted in his mind. It’s late out, and Bucky’s smoking a cig, blowing the smoke out of the open window, his eyes looking weird, the type of weird that Steve never seemed to understand. Yet, he catches Steve staring at him, and stares back, even if momentarily, his eyes change. His eyes change into something filled with admiration, the same type from the first time they met._ _  
_ _  
_ _“C’mon, let’s go out.” Bucky smiles, the one that screamed that he was up to no good._ _  
_ _  
_ _“And do what exactly?” Steve asked, his voice playful._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I dunno, I’m bored. Maybe go dancing?” Bucky pondered, shrugging._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ya know they closed by now?” Steve informed, working on his sketch._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Never said we had to leave.” Bucky countered, trying to convince Steve. It was almost working, but hell would freeze over Bucky before he told him that. His ego was already big enough._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, you actually did, so.” Steve corrects him, pointed out his very flawed logic, yet secretly wondering why the hell Bucky was so insistent on dancing with Steve, like he was worth it._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t be a lil’ shit Steve, it’s gonna turn ya eyes brown from the shit that be leaking outta you.” Bucky taunts him, like it’s something that could actually happen, warning him almost with a humorous tone in his voice._ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’s disgusting,” Steve cringes, looking up at Bucky now._ _  
_ _  
_ _“The truth hurts, Stevie”. Steve winced at the use of his old childhood nickname. Just because he looks 12, doesn’t mean he is._ _  
_ _  
_ _“c’mon, let’s dance! Do somethin’ fun or some shit, I dunno.” Bucky encouraged, almost whining a little bit._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Why ya wanna dance so bad?” Steve questions, rolling his eyes, pulling his eyes back to his sketch._ _  
_ _  
_ _“‘Cos I’m bored, haven’t you been listening? We don’t gotta dance together, ya know.” Bucky urged._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Well, no shit,” Steve stated._ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’s the opposite of what ya are.” Bucky retorted, his eyes mischievous._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Again with the shit jokes?” Steve asked, his voice sounding annoyed, even if he really wasn't that annoyed. He liked bantering with Bucky, it felt nice but also exhilarating._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You know how I am.” Bucky smiled at him, stating some sort of bullshit fact._ _  
_ _  
_ _“An asshole?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“ ‘nd ya know what comes outta that?” Bucky pointed out._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Okay, no more shit jokes! And ya wonder why you don’t got any dames.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Who says I’m thinkin’ bout not having a girl?” Bucky raised his eyebrow as if he wasn’t full of shit. Bucky was always thinking about girls. He only reminded Steve every damn night._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re the one who wants to dance so bad.” Steve countered, humoring Bucky a little bit._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Well, I guess I’m really missing a dame. I’m gonna dance with or without someone there, so ya betta get over it, ‘cos I’m boutta play the music real loud.” Bucky teased._ _  
_ _  
_ _“And bother our poor ‘ol neighbors?” Steve smirked at him, daring him a bit._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Okay, maybe not that loud. But I’ll bother you. Maybe even play that station ya hate.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve warned._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Try me.” Bucky taunts him, a smirk on his face._ _  
_ _  
_ _“God, you’re a real ass, you know that?” Steve fumed, even if angry was nothing he felt, and his words reflected it._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You only remind me every damn day.” Bucky gets up, turning on that radio that his Ma got him for Christmas, playing Steve’s favorite station, of course. He doesn’t have it in him to torture Steve with the music he hates so damn much. Bucky starts swaying, doing some weird dance move that has no rhythm, even though Steve knows he has it, he’s seen it before._ _  
_ _  
_ _Then he thinks it. Says to himself how he can’t believe he’s in love with a fucking idiot. And then he freezes. Bucky’s looking at him, that weird look in his eyes again, still dancing wildly. Once again, Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. He doesn’t know what to do right now, because Bucky’s dancing and Steve’s freaking out inside because he really just thought the thing he didn’t want to think._ _  
_ _  
_ _But Bucky’s dancing, and maybe just for tonight, Steve doesn’t have to care. Doesn’t have to beat himself up about what he’s feeling. Maybe he can just push down the shame or the pit in his stomach, just be._ _  
_ _  
_ _He gets up, and joins Bucky, throwing his sketchbook to the side.  They dance together, doing their own thing. Steve’s, unlike Bucky’s lack of rhythm, it isn’t from the lack of care but for the lack of skill. Once again, he can’t bring himself to care. It’s the night of not caring, and it feels good._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You can’t dance for shit Steve!” Bucky comments excitedly, a bit louder than usual to be heard over the music playing in the background. It’s late, but they don’t care about their neighbors and the thin wall and the likely glares they’re gonna get in the morning._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You ain’t dancing any better,” Steve smirks, and Bucky punches him in the arm, which, ouch. Steve pretends to be more hurt than he actually is, for theatrics. The song changes from something upbeat and fun to something slow and soft. Bucky steps closer to him, bowing to him and holding out his hand, matching the same theatrics that Steve just displayed._ _  
_ _  
_ _“May I have this dance?” Bucky says like he’s a prince in the fantasy books, like Steve’s some kind of princess or some shit._ _  
_ _  
_ _“C’mon Buck, I ain’t one of your dames,” Steve says, a little hurt, so he brushes him off, rolling his eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Never said that, I’m jus’ sayin’, can’t be dancing all alone to a song like this,” Bucky responds, a smirk on his face, the same smirk he uses on all the dames. Steve feels a bit weak in the knees, but pauses, not sure what to do. But this is the night of not caring, so he grabs Bucky’s hand, who pulls him close._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky wraps his arm around Steve’s waist, swaying carelessly to the song, all out of rhythm. His right hand is holding Steve’s left, holding him like he did Katherine all those nights ago. It feels even better than Steve could’ve ever imagined. As the song goes on, they inch closer until they’re pressed up against each other and Steve’s head is resting on Bucky’s chest. The way they almost perfectly fit together is uncanny, but Steve doesn’t care. It feels right. He’s no longer focusing on the music, only the sound of Bucky’s heartbeat in his left ear, his good one._ _  
_ _  
_ _They sway until the song’s over, all too quickly. There’s a pause before the next one plays, and they separate, looking at each other, that glint in Bucky’s eyes and Steve’s knees feel weak._ _  
_ _  
_ _Then, the next song plays, going back to the playful fast beat, music playing wildly. They go back to the way they danced before, separated and moving wildly. Bucky’s smile is wide, he’s not holding it back, and Steve’s only seen it when it’s just them, it’s not the smile he sees around dames and the other folk in his neighborhood. It makes him feel special, even though he might not be, he doesn’t care enough to stop feeling that way._ _  
_ _  
_ _They dance until their feet hurt and Steve’s feeling a bit, okay, a lot outta breath. He may or may not be wheezing right now. He flops on his own bed, springing back up before going back down. It’s a fun feeling. Bucky’s still standing, and he’s looking at Steve again with that smile and those eyes before he goes to turn the music off._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve’s strips out of his clothes into his undergarments while still on his bed as Bucky does the same. The slip into their respective beds, and Steve, tired and worn out with the drowsiness setting in, hears Bucky say softly, almost too scared to be heard,_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Dancing’s fun, ain’t it?” Bucky humors him, and Steve can’t help but agree. He’s always held back in his life, and especially with dancing, mostly out of embarrassment. But Bucky, he would never look at Steve with anything other than admiration and laughter. It was always laughing with him, never at him, unlike most of the people in his neighborhood. He thinks at this moment, a feeling of acceptance. It feels good, to not hold back. He had always thought of his feelings for Bucky as something wrong, and there was so much happiness in feeling his love for Bucky. He doesn’t think anything wrong could feel this good, feel so right._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah.” Is all Steve can say, too tired to form words._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Thank you, Steve. Really.” Bucky says, even softer this time. Steve’s half asleep and mutters out words that don’t really sound like words, but he hopes that Bucky can understand what he’s saying, “Yo’re welcome,” But really, Steve should be the one saying thank you. Expressing his gratitude, because Bucky’s the only friend he ever needed, besides his Ma, of course. Bucky’s been his rock, been the one who never pitied him, never looked down and saw the small boy with a heart too big and prideful for his body, not as everyone else did._ _  
_ _  
_ _And more than ever, he’s thankful that Bucky’s his first love, even if Steve ain’t Bucky’s, He doesn’t care._ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s the night of not caring, after all._ _  
  
_

_-_ _  
_ _  
_ He tries to draw again.  
  
He doesn’t hold back. He draws Bucky, over and over again. It’s still a muscle memory, he lets himself feel everything, he draws those calloused hands, draws those eyes he knows too well, his broad shoulders. Everything.  
  
Sometimes, back in Brooklyn, he would do this, draw Bucky over and over again while Bucky was working when Steve was sick. He would get all those feelings out onto the page, trying to replicate the man until his hand hurt too much and he got cramps in his wrists.  
  
With the serum, those cramps never come.  
  
The sketches change slowly, gradually, two men make their way onto the page. First, the drawing of hands interlocked, a larger one threading its fingers into a smaller, thinner one. He paused for a second, looking at what he just created. He thinks about it for a moment, about throwing the sketchbook away and vowing to never put those types of scenes out into the world.  
  
His pencil moves again.  
  
Not holding back anymore, he draws Bucky in his best clothes and Steve, the Steve from before, dancing in an empty apartment, soft smiles and crinkled eyes. It was from the first time Bucky taught him how to dance, and Steve caught on after a little bit but pretended not to. He wanted to savor the moment, and then gave up after the feeling of want got too much to be holding Bucky like this and claimed that he wasn’t going to get it, something about two left feet.  
  
He puts the sketchbook down, and for the first time since 1943, Steven Grant Rogers cries. Cries for what he had and lost, what he never had yet he still can’t help but grieve. Cries for Peggy, whose mind is so far from gone, a shell of the woman she once was. Cries for Bucky, cries for the man he could have saved, even if everyone told him that there was nothing he could have done.  
_  
_ He cries for his Ma, who slaved away every day trying to make ends meet and afford to keep Steve alive. He cries for soap in his mouth when he said “fuck” for the first time after stubbing his toe on the small chair in their apartment. Cries for the quilt that smelled of home, the real one that he’d lost, the quilt that his mother worked so hard to make, the quilt he will never see again.  
  
He cries for himself, cries for the sickly boy from Brooklyn with a body not big enough for his heart and a sense of pride to match. He cries for Steven Grant Rogers, a damn queer that would of have never had a long life if it wasn’t for German doctors and blue serums.  
  
He cries because maybe, after all, a long life isn’t what he wants anymore.  
_  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _On December 7th, 1941, the Japanese attack America, at Pearl Harbor. The United States of America declared war on the Japanese. On December 8th, Steve goes to the enlistment center and returns with a form that says the one thing he wished it didn’t. 4F._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky’s waiting for him when he comes back, and Steve can’t even look at him. He knows how Bucky’s looking at him, a face filled with concern and maybe pity, even though Bucky had never looked at him like that. Maybe he’s projecting right now because right now Steve is just feeling like a sack of nothing. Useless. A feeling he should be used to._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Rejected?” Bucky asks, his voice filled with sympathy, and somehow, relief._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah,” Steve says, not being able to look at Bucky out of shame. He doesn't know why he's not surprised, the US wants real men, and that's the exact opposite of what Steve is. He's not a man, and he never was. He was clinging onto the possibility that maybe they could change him, fix him and turn him into someone who could fight and protect, make him someone worth loving._ _  
_ _  
_ _‘You don’t have to do this, you know that right?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I do,” Steve tells him with such an assertion that it feels like fire running through his veins._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, you don’t Steve! You don’t.” Bucky raises his voice, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, looking away. But he opens them and looks at Steve, his eyes brimmed with tears and anger. It makes him feel selfish, makes him feel like a fucking idiot. He knows he is, but wants to do what’s right for once. He knows Bucky’s going to get drafted, gonna leave Bucky. Steve’s stubborn, and he can’t help but feel defensive, like Bucky’s treating him like he’s fragile, and maybe he is, but why can’t he let Steve do this, prove that he’s a real man. He knows Bucky sees him as his equal, knows that Bucky’s just trying to protect Steve, but it hurts._ _  
_ _  
_ _“And what, Bucky? Sit here wit my little red wagon, thinkin’ bout the jews dyin’, thinkin’ bout the lives being lost, think bout what I could be doin’?” Steve responds, curt and angry. He drops the form on the counter, all worn out from the emotion coursing through his sickly body._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’ll die, you won’t fucking make it! I can’t deal with that.” Bucky retorts, but his voice is sad and resigned. He gets up and engulfing him in his arms, Steve embraces it and holds on like it’s the last one; like he actually did get in and this was their final goodbye. He feels small in Bucky’s arms, feeling the muscles in Bucky’s broad chest, feeling loved and wanted, even if it’s not in the way Steve wants. But for a moment, in Steve’s queer mind, he soaks it up and closes his eyes, pretending that Bucky really loves him like Steve does._ _  
_ _  
_ _Just another fucking fantasy._

 _  
_ _They don’t talk much that night, and they don’t talk when Bucky abandons his own bed and slips into Steve’s. He doesn’t hold him as he did on that drunken night, but Steve wishes he would. It was cold, and not just on the outside. After a couple minutes of Steve’s head doing what it seems to do best, which is thinking of Bucky, he feels Bucky's arm drape itself over Steve’s torso, pulling him in closer._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You don’t have to save the world,” Bucky mutters, his breath tickles Steve’s neck._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve doesn’t know what to say to that, and he’s too tired, maybe even a little scared, to fight him on it. Closes his eyes, even though he knows sleep wouldn’t come to him for a while._ _  
_ _  
_ _He wakes up, and Bucky’s gone. At work most likely. Doing yet another thing Steve can’t do. The list that Steve has in his head keeps on getting longer and longer._ _  
_ _  
_ _They’re waiting. They’re waiting for that stupid letter that calls for James Buchanan Barnes to come and serve for their country, fight for what’s right._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve knows he’ll never get one himself, for he was already rejected a couple weeks ago._ _  
_ _  
_ _They don’t leave each other’s side while they wait. Bucky sleeps in his bed, still holding him. They don’t talk about it. Instead, they talk about everything else until their eyes feel heavy and their words slur from drowsiness._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky goes out less and cooks more, and stays with Steve. He touches him more often now, all platonic of course. Just an arm around his shoulder while they walk in the streets, something he had always done sparingly, or he sometimes just looks at Steve while they sit in the far too quiet apartment and places a hand on Steve’s shoulder, eyes filled with sorrow._ _  
_ _  
_ _The letter comes, and Bucky leaves the next day to go off to basic._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve spends the next couple of weeks sketching and finding odd jobs and real ones, trying to make ends meet.  He thinks of writing letters but didn’t know what to right. Nothing really happened, nothing worth noting. The only thing on his mind was the ache he felt from the loss of Bucky’s presence, realizing how much he really wanted him. His bed felt colder, and the nights felt lonelier. He thought of making some friends, but none of them could ever compare to Bucky._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve doesn’t know how to feel about it. He knows that Bucky’s leaving out so much, leaving out the most likely exhausting days of training, about the cold nights and what it’s like to shoot a gun and his fears for the war he’s about to face._ _  
_ _  
_ _All Steve wants, is for Bucky to come back home, and all he wishes for is for the war to be over, for the fight to leave. He doesn’t want Bucky to have to face that, he just wants to spare Bucky from everything he’s about to face, all the pain that might come._ _  
_ _  
_ _But, he still wants to fight, wants to go after Bucky, maybe make the inevitable more manageable. He wants to help fight for his country, help fight for the ones who can’t. Maybe have the war end faster to get Bucky the hell out of there._ _  
_ _  
_ _The next time he sees Bucky, he’s getting his ass beat in an alleyway, from that same sandy-haired blonde from a couple of years ago. This time for mouthing off to him so recklessly, and he lets him land more punches than he should. It’s all some form of self-punishment, for missing Bucky so fucking much, for longing for him so much stronger than before. For the sweaty nights, he spent in Bucky’s bed while he was away, jerking himself so fiercely and filled with want._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky pulls the guy off him, and a sense of deja vu is uncanny. Bucky looks at him weirdly and pulls him in for a hug._ _  
_ _  
_ _“How ya doing Buck?” Steve asks, not sure what to say anymore._ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’s Sergeant Barnes to ya.” Bucky jokes and the tension is broken._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Asshole.” Steve lightly punches Bucky on the shoulder, and he pretends to wince in pain. It only makes Steve smile more._ _  
_ _  
_ _“C’mon, I got something to show you. I’m only here for one night before I go off.” Bucky tells him, smiling softly yet sadly. Steve tries to keep his own smile but fails._ _  
_ _  
_ _He lets Bucky drag him to some science fair, on a double date of course, just like old times. The girl takes one look at Steve and clings to Bucky and her friend, completely ignoring Steve, like he'll disappear into the air. Steve wishes the same, get rid of his thin, ugly, and incurable body with a mind to match. He doesn’t bother to remember her name. Some weird contraption is being shown, and his gaze turns to Bucky memorizing his face like it’s the last time he’ll see him, and that reality hurts too much._ _  
_ _  
_ _He looks away, and sees an enlistment center and slips away before Bucky can grab his arm._ _  
_ _  
_ _Right before he fills out the form about some other Steve, not the one from Brooklyn of course, but one from Ohio. Bucky grabs his arm._ _  
_ _  
_ _“What are ya doing?” Bucky asks him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“The right thing.” Chasing after you, Steve thinks but holds his tongue._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t,” Bucky commands him, demanding that he stops this bullshit and doesn’t act like a fucking idiot who can’t back down from a fight. Steve never was good at that, to Bucky’s dismay. He thinks back at the nights in their apartment, the ones where Bucky patched him up and whips the blood off of Steve’s knuckles and face, his touch light, and his eyes sad. In those moments, he would look at Bucky as he focused on Steve with such concentration and care that it made him feel all warm inside._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Too bad.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“So sad, huh? I can’t stop you can I?” Bucky sounds hurt, resigned. Steve can’t take it, so he makes the conversation more light-hearted._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No you cannot Sergeant Barnes, I’m not under your orders until I join.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Why’re ya doing this?” Bucky asks him, his voice low and demanding an answer. Steve doesn’t know if he can give him the real one, so he doesn't._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You know why,” Steve says, even though he knows that Bucky doesn’t know the other truth alongside the larger one._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Fine. Just, fuck. Don’t fucking die on me.” Bucky says, softly yet filled with that same fire that can only be associated with James Buchanan Barnes._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I won’t.” Even though, he probably will. They both know this. He can see Bucky’s eyes glaze over, and Bucky shakes his head._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re an idiot,” Bucky says, maybe it was supposed to be teasing, but it just came out as hurt. Steve doesn’t know if he can even acknowledge it. He feels selfish for it._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Not as much as you.” Steve retorts._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I guess so, huh. Lemme just take some of that stupidity on, and you can grab it later when I see you.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Bucky, I don’t think your poor ‘ol heart can take all that dumb shit on its own, you’re already busting at the seams wit dumbass.” Steve laughs and Bucky pulls him in for a hug, and Steve doesn’t miss the way he buries his head in the crook his neck, inhaling deeply._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Until then, Steve,” Bucky says, his eyes sad and filled with hurt, but his voice trying to mask the grief. It doesn’t work._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Until then, Sergeant Barnes.” Steve salutes him, and Bucky’s eyes do that thing again, but he nods this time, walking away._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ Steve starts jogging at the mall again, calling it irony. It’s the nearest place to run near his apartment in Southwest DC, and he jogs early in the morning so the people don’t bother him. There was another man alongside him, or more so one that Steve keeps passing, telling him “on your left” each time just to be a bit of an asshole, but he can tell the man doesn’t mind it that much.  
  
His name’s Sam. A vet, just like him. But instead of wallowing as Steve does, he helps other vets get through it all. It’s inspiring, and Steve looks up to him for that, but he sure as hell ain’t gonna let Sam know that.  
  
“Damn, I don’t know what the fuck that damn exhibit was about, you nothin’ like they say you were, you know, besides that whole dying for your country and heart of gold type shit. Who knew Steve Rogers had such a mouth on him?” Sam remarks after Steve calls him an asshole for giving him shit for drinking coffee with a bunch of sugar and milk in it, a luxury he couldn’t afford before. They’re in some hole in the wall coffee shop, even though there’s a bunch of Starbucks, another weird thing from the future because Sam says that’s white people type shit. Even though Steve is in fact, very white.  
  
“The entire population of Brooklyn in the 1930s and 40s.” Steve deadpans, taking a sip of his too sweet coffee, realizing that he misses the bitter taste.  
  
“You are really something else,” Sam tells him, wonder-eyed.  
  
“I could say the same.” Steve smiles at him.  
  
“Don’t make me blush, Captain.” Sam teases him, joking about that sort of thing seems foreign to him, something that was unheard of back then.  
  
“Call me Captain again and that won’t be a problem.”  
  
They’re friends now, the first one Steve’s had in 70 years. He forgot what it’s like, and he knows Sam sees that.  
_  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _They write letters to each other, even if they come late and don’t always get there on time. Steve doesn’t send some of them, the ones filled with words that have to be left unspoken, unheard by everyone. He instead writes about his days, his odd jobs and the neighborhood gossip he hears from Ms. Bennett when he grabs his scarce amount of groceries. He gives him sketches of his favorites memories of their times together, before the war, so he can remember. For the first time, he gives Bucky the portrait of Bucky himself, just for shits ‘n giggles, totally not because Steve’s in love with the guy._ _  
_ _  
_ _Bucky writes about the men in his division, about his new friends and the ones he’s not so fond of, venting to Steve instead of creating unnecessary conflict within their group. He writes about the gross beans, about how the guys keep on asking if he’s got a girl back home, about how Bucky just tells him about a girl named Stella, confessing that he’s scared they might take it the wrong way if he raves about his friend named Steve._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_

 _  
_ Steve thinks about the letters he never sent, wondering if the Smithsonian had them, wondering if they saw them and exposed the man he really was. He thinks of the words he could never dare to say, words he could never say out loud.  
  
He hopes that maybe they were lost, that maybe no one found them and those words were never found and never seen.  
  
The idea that those letters were discovered, were absorbed by someone out there, brings a pit in Steve’s stomach out of fear and the feeling of his secrets being torn and stripped away from him. _  
  
_

But in some way, he pushes it down, forcing himself not to care; telling himself that maybe it’s for the better.

 _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _The serum hurts like a bitch, the most pain Steve had ever been in his life. But it works, it fucking worked and Steve’s huge now and Peggy’s looking at him like he’s hot shit, but that wasn’t a new thing, she had always looked at him like that. Steve doesn’t know why._ _  
_ _  
_ _It cures everything, besides the one thing he really fucking wanted it to._ _  
_ _  
_ _Erskine dies, and Steve knows it’s his fault. He keeps on fighting, in his name. Or more so wants to, because now he’s a circus monkey, doing the political propaganda he used to admire._ _  
_ _  
_ _He punches some fake Hitler in the face all over the country, even though all he wanted to do was punch the real Hitler in the face. He’s a figurehead now, even though he has all these special abilities now, he can fight now and not get his ass beat into the pavement._ _  
_ _  
_ _He goes to bars after each show, making eyes at people and sucking face and other things, doing all those things he wanted to do with Bucky, but can’t. He has this new type of fake confidence that he knows he’s supposed to have, and he never really had the Fake it Till you Make it mindset until his spine was fixed until he grew 6 inches taller and people started to look at him with want, instead of dismissal. While he’s in those hotel rooms with nameless men, he thinks of Bucky, and that maybe it’s better he doesn’t know their names so that he can think of Bucky, it’s wrong he knows that. To use them as some surrogate for the love he’ll never have, even though what he's doing is quite far from love. Even if their brown hair that isn’t the right shade and their eyes that he can’t look at, the ones that aren’t filled with the same emotion that Bucky’s held. He doesn’t gaze in their eyes while they do those unspeakable things, because it just reminds him that they’re not him._ _  
_ _  
_ _Then, in the morning he goes back to perform those stupid shows, trying to forget the night before, tries to forget the feeling of dissatisfaction and regret. He goes back to being the All Perfect Captain America when the sun comes up and he has to put on the show for the people, so they can support the war he wants so desperately to fight in._ _  
_ _  
_ _All he wants to do something actually important, even though they tell him, “Oh but Captain, this is important.” He just doesn't see why he has to be the one who does it, why he’s called Captain when he ain’t never done nothing in the war to deserve the title._ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s all going to waste, all in the name for the political side of the war. All he can think about is Bucky, how’d he’d laugh his ass off seeing Steve wearing tights. If Bucky was here, he’d laugh too._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ Fury gets shot, another person gone because of Steve. He should be used to it. He’s not.  
  
Hydra’s in SHIELD. He should have known, should have been paying more attention instead of moping about the love that never was. _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _He knows Bucky might be dead. He doesn’t care or try to think about it as he raids the Hydra base that holds his possibly dead best friend. He fights the Hydra soldiers, not caring if he kills those sons of bitches._ _  
_ _  
_ _They hurt Bucky. No one does that and gets fucking away with it._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ He’s a fugitive now. Surprisingly, this has never happened before, Steve was never good at following orders. When he thinks about it, he never really did that, even in the army when that was all he was supposed to do.  
  
He finds Sam. They’re on their own with this now, fugitives against a large corrupt government agency that’s filled with fucking Hydra. With only Natasha and Sam by his side. Natasha was quite used to abandoning the agency she belonged to, and he thinks that maybe that’s for the best, because he knows that if she gets attached, she’ll just be even more hurt. She was never good at following orders. Sam, however, wants to fight for America or something, wanting to get rid of the enemy, going back to his ways from back in the day. Now, Steve, Steve gets that. Sam and Steve were like that, going against it all in the name of fighting for what’s right. They have to fight mother fucking Hydra now, this time now, they’re on the inside. Fuck.

  
They’re driving on the highway, too pumped with adrenaline to remember or even care about the name. There’s this asshole fucking doctor in the back and Steve is really trying to resist the urge to beat the shit out of the guy.  
  
Then, everything went to shit. Next thing Steve knows he’s fighting this assassin with a metal arm, damn the future is weird.  
  
It’s scary. It’s fucking scary, because this guy is strong, and he doesn’t want to die now. He doesn’t want to leave his friends, doesn’t want to betray his damn country and fail to save his friends like he failed to save Bucky.  
_  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve finds Bucky strapped to a table, lying there, eyes dead until they met Steve’s eyes. it’s a bit funny how Bucky was tied to a fucking torture table, and he’s giving Steve a dazed partial smile._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Steve?” Bucky says like he’s afraid to hear the answer._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah.” Is all he can say._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re huge,” Bucky states, looking a bit dazed._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I can’t really believe it myself. Let’s get the fuck outta here. I thought you were dead, so let’s not make that a reality.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yeah, probably a good idea to you know, not do that,” Bucky says, a bit breathless._ _  
_ _  
_ _They escape, fighting through those motherfuckers who hurt Bucky, almost took him away from him. The walk back is long and treacherous, and he can’t stop looking at Bucky, because Bucky’s here and he’s alive, even if he’s stumbling and tired and his eyes are looking weird now. He’s looking at Bucky, and Bucky’s looking back. They don’t say anything about it._ _  
_ _  
_ _When they return, Peggy’s waiting. He doesn’t really care anymore, to flirt with her like he isn’t queer for his best fucking friend. He can see that she notices his lack of interest, and probably, see right through him like she always does._ _  
_ _  
_ _He tries not to think about it. Because Bucky’s alive, his mind is already filled with Bucky, what happened to Bucky, how to help Bucky. It’s always been Bucky._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ Steve’s fighting the man, the Winter Soldier. He’s scared. He’s fast, strong and ruthless, and faceless, a black mask covering it. He can’t tell if it makes him scarier or not. He doesn’t know if he can look into the eyes of the man that is shamelessly trying to kill him.  
  
The mask falls, and Steve’s world stops.  
  
Bucky doesn’t smile when he sees him, not as he did all those years ago. He looks different now, his hair’s longer, framing and hiding his face. He looks so tired, his eyes so gone and void of the emotions that always filled his blue eyes from back in Brooklyn. He hurts from that, hurts for the loss that Bucky doesn’t even feel from losing.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve says, almost breathless, not knowing what he’s seeing anymore.  
  
“Who the hell is Bucky?”  Bucky, or the man who’s in Bucky’s body right now, says. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t have that dazed look on his face, and he doesn’t stop.  
  
He goes back to trying to kill him. Steve doesn’t know what to fucking do anymore. He can’t wrap his head around this, because Bucky’s alive. Even if it seems that James Buchanan Barnes isn’t, because Bucky doesn’t remember him, doesn’t remember Steven Grant Rogers, doesn’t remember the nights they spent together, even if they weren’t together. Doesn’t remember cramped apartments and bruised apples, doesn’t remember any of it.  
  
For the first time, Steven Grant Rogers runs away from James Buchanan Barnes, even if momentarily.  
  
_-_ _  
_ _  
_ _They decide to have a drink, at this random pub in the middle of wherever they are. Bucky’s looking at him weird, a weird smile on his face with disbelief in his eyes. Steve’s expressions mirrors his, he can’t believe it either. Can’t believe that he’s big now, that Bucky’s in front of him, alive, can’t believe that he actually made it to war. Bucky’s sipping on some whiskey, definitely drunk. Steve doesn’t know the feeling anymore, he can’t get drunk anymore, unfortunately._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Y’know, Steve, I know we couldn’t afford costumes for Halloween, but doesn’t mean you gotta overcompensate.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Are you makin’ fun of my uniform?” Steve asks him, mock offense._ _  
_ _  
_ _“No! I love it, I really do.” Bucky assures him, even though he sounds a bit sarcastic with a bit of honesty behind his voice._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t be an asshole.” Steve bumps him with his shoulder, eying him up and down. He can’t help it, because Bucky’s here. It doesn’t feel real, but then again, everything doesn’t. He’s got a new body, he’s in a war he never thought he’d be in, even though he was determined to enter. Steve doesn’t believe in fate, not exactly, but in this moment, he ponders the idea._ _  
_ _  
_ _“That’d be askin’ too much.” Bucky teases him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t I know it. I really can’t believe you’re here.” Steve tells him, the feeling of sentiment washing over him. There’s nothing else he could say, for all he can do is be genuine right now._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t be gettin’ all sappy on me.” Bucky rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his drink, smiling. Steve doesn’t know what to say, so he just watches Bucky, watches the way his throat move as he gulps the liquor. Bucky looks back up him and doesn’t look away. This hasn’t happened before, not so freely. Bucky didn’t get like this unless he was drunk. Bucky opened his mouth to say something when the click of high heels turned his head towards Peggy, who sat there waiting for him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh, Hi.” Steve greets Peggy awkwardly. With Bucky here, he doesn’t know what to do._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Captain.” She greets, and looks at Bucky, “Sergeant Barnes.” he gives a sarcastic and drunken wave and looks away. He almost laughs at the irony of Bucky getting all awkward around a dame, of all times. How the tables have turned._ _  
_ _  
_ _“How are you?” Steve continues, trying to be polite, and he means this in the best way possible, but he really just wants her to go away. He just wants to be alone with Bucky, and pretend that they aren’t in the middle of Europe, fighting a war, pretend that they’re just back at home. They both get up, to be polite, of course._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m good, thank you. Howard will be wanting to see you tomorrow, some new equipment for you.” She says and then hesitates like she has more to say. Normally, Steve would be wanting to hear it, but now, he’s just focused on Bucky, who’s looking around awkwardly and moving on the balls on his feet._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Alright. Thank you for letting me know.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Of course.” She pauses. “I’ll see you then. Goodnight.” She walks away, and Steve turns to Bucky, whose giving him a drunken smile._ _  
_ _  
_ _“She’s beautiful. Finally found the perfect dame, huh?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Maybe,” Steve says, holding his tongue. He wants to say more, say how dames were never the thing for him, and how he doesn’t need one to begin with, he has Bucky now. Bucky tries to go and sit back on his barstool, but stumbles and Steve caught him, putting his hands on Bucky’s firm chest and pulls him up._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Aight, I think it’s time to call it a night?” Steve pats his back, leading him towards the exit._ _  
_ _  
_ _“‘Mm. You should marry ‘er.” Bucky slurs, still putting his weight on Steve, he can do that now. Steve’s strong enough now._ _  
_ _  
_ _“C’mon, let’s go.” Is all Steve can say to that. All he should say, because of course he could say more, but he can’t, not what he really wants to say._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ As Steve does best, he goes after Bucky, more so, goes after those Hydra motherfuckers for what they did to him. Project Insight, some bullshit if Steve had ever seen it. He knows Bucky’s going to go after him, knows that it isn’t Bucky anymore, and he’s not going to smile at him and giving him a hug like he used to.  
  
He doesn’t care, he’s not going to fight him. He doesn’t care what happens after that. He can’t let himself care, because, in the end, someone’s going to walk away hurt.  
  
_-_ _  
_ _  
_ _They sleep in the same tent, just like the good old days. As if things had never changed, even though nearly everything has changed, they hold each other. Not for warmth this time, Steve’s a damn furnace now, but just like the damn good old days, right before the war, when it was their way of saying goodbye. They don’t say anything about it in the morning._ _  
_ _  
_ _They catch each other up on what they missed until they’re all caught up and it turns into just talking. On the really bad days, on the days where they lose someone or the days where the reality that is war is too much for even their nightly talks to heal, if one could even call it that, they say nothing. Only holding each other like they do best._ _  
_ _  
_ _Steve draws some days, but not all. Bucky writes in that familiar black journal and Steve watches him do so. It was a routine, the only consistent during this war._ _  
_ _  
_ _They kick Hydra ass during the day and hold each other at night. If the world could see Captain America now, the guy from Brooklyn plagued with such a defect that even the serum couldn’t fix._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ The Winter Soldier shoots him 4 times. Steve keeps on moving, trying to take down Hydra. He puts the chip into the last helicarrier and turns around. The Winter Soldier's stuck under a support beam, looking at him with eyes that scream Bucky, that are filled with fear and confusion. Steve jumps down to him, holding on to the hope that maybe, just maybe, it’s really Bucky that he sees in those crystal blue eyes.  
  
He looks into those eyes, they’re changing now, switching from Bucky to the Winter Soldier. He screams words at him, but he doesn’t remember what they were. All he knows is that he was just trying to get through to him.  
  
He drops the shield.  
  
The Winter Soldier, or maybe it’s Bucky, long hair and all, even what’s on the outside doesn’t match how it used to be. He still doesn’t know anymore who it really is.  
  
He very soon finds out exactly who’s in control.  
  
The Winter Soldier, he knows who it is now, pins him down, punching him over and over again. Steve lets him. He’s holding on to this faith that just maybe Bucky knows it’s him.  
  
He doesn’t. He’s screaming over and over again how’s Steve’s his damn mission or some shit. But all Steve can even do right now is look at Bucky, memorizing his face and realizing that this is the first time in 70 fucking years that he’s seen Bucky this close up since 1943. He knows this is it, he knows it over.  
  
“Then finish it.” He finds himself saying, like an idiot. But that’s all Steve has ever been when it comes to James Buchanan Barnes. He looks at Bucky, knowing and feeling that he’s in love. He’s in fucking love with the guy who’s hitting him over and over again, just like those damn bullies from Brooklyn that are long dead and yet still alive in his heart.  
  
Bucky drops him. He hits the river.  
  
He doesn’t care.  
_  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _They’re on the train. Bucky falls. Steve can’t even bring himself to scream, or maybe he was, but he couldn’t hear it over the screams that left Bucky’s mouth as he fell to his death._ _  
_ _  
_ _He can’t move. But he has to. He knows this and he knows that this is war. This is war and nobody fucking leaves without losing someone. Bucky never grasped his hand, he couldn’t reach it. It feels empty, everything feels empty yet so filled up at the same time._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ He wakes up in a hospital room. He almost thinks he’s dreaming at first, wondering if this what hell is like, or is it heaven? He doesn’t know where he would go after death.  
  
But Sam’s there, reading some book and there’s music playing in the background. He likes it.  
  
Everything floods back to him in that moment. Bucky, motherfucking Bucky, pulled him out of the river, not the Winter Soldier, but Bucky. Steve’s alive by some miracle, and Bucky’s still in his body, even if it’s dormant.  
  
He’s going to find him. He’s not going to lose him, not again.  
  
He tries to get up, even if everything hurts and everything's sore, he tries to move. Sam stops him, of course, he does.  
  
“Woah, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sam puts a hand on his chest, the touch is light, but it still hurts his broken ribs. He pushes through the pain, still moving to get up.  
  
“Getting the fuck outta here.” Steve grits out, still moving, like the idiot he is. All he’s thinking about is Bucky, the look of fear and doubt that ran through Bucky’s face as he was dropped into the river. Steve thought, in that moment, that looking at Bucky was a nice way to go. Bucky pulled him out of the river, jumped into the polluted and trash-filled water to save Steve. That’s not something the Winter Soldier would have done. It gives Steve hope.  
  
“Not a good idea Cap,” Sam warns as if it means anything.  
  
“Don’t care,” Steve tells him, his voice curt. He’s not angry, just determined. He hopes it doesn’t come across as aggression, for the curtness in his voice was mostly from pain and motivation.  
  
“Well start caring. You can’t chase after him in the state you’re in.” Sam warns him.  
  
“Don’t care,” Steve repeats.  
  
“You really gotta stop that man.”  
  
“Don’t care.” He says again because that’s all he feels. He needs to see Bucky again, he’d do anything to find him again, to demand why he pulled him out of the river and get to the bottom of everything.  
  
“Got any other words for me?” Sam teases him, not put off by Steve.  
  
“On your left,” Steve says with a smile, half fake, half not. The smile Sam gives him is real _._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _He’s in a bar. He’s trying to get drunk, even if it won’t fucking work, he knows this but he’s still going to try. He’s crying, he knows it. He feels his tears burn his face, his eyes sore and raw._ _  
_ _  
_ _He lost him. He lost Bucky, and it’s all his fucking fault. Bucky helped him all he could and he paid him back by failing to pull him up from the side of the train. He hasn’t hurt like this since his Ma died, but even then, his Ma’s TB was never his fault._ _  
_ _  
_ _This, this was his fault._ _  
_ _  
_ _Peggy finds him, finds him in the bar with his cheeks dripping with tears. He doesn’t even bother to wipe them away to hide the mess that he is. He doesn’t care anymore. He downs another glass, the burn on his throat not hurting enough. She sits down, her eyes sad, maybe for Bucky, maybe for Steve. He doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t say anything._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m sorry.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Why’re you the one apologizin’? You’re not the one who fucked up.” He mumbles, pouring another glass. Peggy doesn’t stop him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You can’t blame yourself like this.” She says, softly, it almost sounds nice with her accent._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes, I can. All Bucky ever did was help me, all he ever fucking did was be there for me, and what did I do? I let him fall.” Steve croaks, another tear falling down his face. He feels so defeated, feels so hopeless. Hopeless to not feel this way, not to feel like it was no one’s fault but his own. Regret fills his stomach, but maybe that was just the alcohol, but he knows it not. It’s just plain ‘ol regret. Regret from not saving Bucky, regret from holding so much back from him. He should of just fucking told him. Told him everything. Should have been able to save him from falling. So many things he should of fucking done that he’ll never be able to do._ _  
_ _  
_ _It hurts more than he can bear._ _  
_ _  
_ _“Steve. You helped him more than you can ever know. Without you, Barnes would have died on that table. You saved him more times than I can count, in more ways than one. You kept him alive for as long as you could, and at the end of the day; you did all you could. It’s not your fucking fault, so stop acting like it.” Steve felt another tear roll down his cheek, a bit startled by Peggy’s cursing. Her words meant nothing to him, at that time. And in some ways, they still don’t._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You loved him,” Peggy states, not accusatory in any way. Steve doesn’t even try to deny it, he only sinks his head onto the table, cradling it in his arms. The glass slides and falls on the floor, the glass breaking and blending in with the rest._ _  
_ _  
_ _“I’m sorry.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You don’t have to be.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Yes, I do, god. I’m supposed to be— you know. We probably would have gotten married or some shit, but I’m not it. I’m not going to be able to love you the way I love him. I wish I was different, I wish I could be more.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You are Steve. You are enough. You’re not what you think you are.” She tells him, with a conviction and with passion. Steve doesn’t believe her._ _  
_ _  
_ _“But I am. You wouldn’t know— you shouldn't know. Know what it’s like to be this way. I’m sorry Peggy, I’m so fucking sorry. you deserve the best, someone who loves you, in that way. I just— I wish I could be the one for you, but I can’t.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“I don’t care. I don’t care if you’re queer, or any of that. Steve, I— god. I already knew. I already knew when I saw you and I just— god your heart was too big for your frail body. I knew how those boys acted, I knew what they would do to you. That’s how it started, and maybe I did grow some feelings along the way, but Steve— when I saw you with Bucky, saw the way you looked at him, I remembered that I’m not the one, not in that way. I’m okay now, I’ve accepted it and I’ve moved on.” Peggy explained, her voice soft. Steve got up, bringing her along, and gave her a hug, his tears stained her uniform. She let him cry and rubbed his back like a concerned mother. Another person he’ll never have again._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ _He kicked Hydra’s ass, well, kind of. He got rid of all the men, rid of the ones who put them on the chase that led to Bucky’s death. He’s filled with a calculated rage as he beats them down, one at a time._ _  
_ _  
_ _He fucks up Schmidt, the one who got them in this mess._ _  
_ _  
_ _There’s a huge problem, one that comes in a large plane filled with bombs headed for the United States. There’s only one option and one that he’s fully prepared to follow through. He knows he’s going to die, but if it’s for his country, for Bucky, for the greater good, he doesn't care._ _  
_ _  
_ _He sets up a fake date that’s all for show, for the men back at the base who still think he’s some man in love with Peggy, a lie they both agreed to keep up._ _  
_ _  
_ _He plunged the plane into the Arctic, embracing the cold that will soon match what he feels inside, matches the icy ground that Bucky hit as he died. If there’s a heaven as his Ma told him there was, he just hopes Bucky is there to meet him._ _  
_ _  
_ _-_ _  
_ _  
_ He goes to Fury’s fake grave, there’s a feeling in his stomach that doesn’t feel right.  
  
He knows what he has to do, he has to go after Bucky. He’s out there, all alone in the world, and that’s not how its supposed to be. They’re supposed to be a team, to fight whatever is thrown their way together, that’s how it always was. Whenever Steve got sick or whenever Bucky’s father was giving him a hard time, or when Bucky caught whatever Steve passed to him, even if it didn’t hit him as hard as it did Steve.  
  
The Winter Soldier might've beaten the shit out of him, but Bucky pulled him out of the water, even if the river was as disgusting as Sam told him it was. He chuckles softly as the memory of Sam telling him about how he smelled like shit and was covered in trash when they found him, the human embodiment of the Potomac River.  
  
Sam walks up behind him, he heard the rustle of the grass moving a couple of minutes ago but ignored it.  
  
“You’re going after him, aren’t you.” It’s not a question, but not an accusation either. Steve turns around, a smirk on his face. It’s all a front, to cover up the worry that lies at the bottom of his stomach.  
  
“Just like old times.”  
  
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, it ain’t old times anymore.” Sam pauses, smiling, “When do we start?” He hands over a folder, and Steve already knows what it is.  
  
“We already have.”  
_  
_  
_  
_ _-_ _  
_ _**A/N: I'm totally pulling a 2012 fanficiton.net move here rn, but what happens in the fic is that I didn't feel like writing was that Steve and the gang find refugee in Wakanda, and Bucky goes under and Steve and Sam go off and fight hydra for 16 months** untill **they get a call back to grab bucky and then they all go to Idaho!!! well Sam doesn't he waits like a month before moving in so it** doens't **look sus**  
_ _-  
_ _  
_ They landed in Idaho about a day later, with all the connections they had to take to get out of Wakanda, with new identities and sore backs from the uncomfortable plane seats. Bucky’s new name was Will McMorris, and Steve’s Ryan Grant. It’s unfair that once again Bucky has to find a new identity, but at the end of the day, it’s what they have to do. Sam wished them the best of luck and vowed to see them in about a month with warm eyes and smiles along with it.  
  
Shuri had handed him a car key before the left for Idaho, letting him know that there would be a black Toyota Corolla waiting for them on the second floor of Magic Valley Regional Airport's parking garage. Steve looked at her with warm eyes and hugged her tightly, gratitude filling his entire body.  
  
The car ride home was silent, it was only a 20-minute drive from their new home so it wasn't too unbearable. Steve wasn't sure if it was because they were bone tired from the traveling, or the awkwardness of the whole situation. Maybe it was both.  
  
He wanted nothing more for Bucky to always feel comfortable around Steve, but he knew that it wasn’t fair to put that on Bucky, he knows it’s not a personal thing; but a part of him wanted it to be personal, in the way of Bucky feeling like Steve was his person, the one he could always count on and be free with. But he knew that wasn’t fair to Bucky, he couldn’t put that on Bucky when Bucky needs to focus on himself; they both knew that.  
  
They finally reached the home that Shuri had set up for them after about a hour due to traffic. The home she picked out from them was modest, but fancier than any place Steve and Bucky had lived in together before. It was one story with a small yard in the front, red brick walls and a black door, no garage, but there was a small black Toyota in the front, courtesy of T'challa. He couldn’t be more grateful of him now, giving them all of this with no complaints. It’s not that Steve didn’t have money, he did, but he couldn’t access it for it was that his account was most likely being monitored by some dude up in DC, and they couldn’t risk that.  
  
They didn’t have many bags, only a large duffle between the two of them, all the things Steve would want were lost awhile ago or still in the Smithsonian. Bucky unlocked the door and walked in, Steve followed him and dropped the duffle bag by the door. There was no furniture, only a small kitchen, hardwood floors, and a plain white wall was in front of them.  
  
“Guess we’ll have to hit up the local target, if they even have those here.” Bucky commented, his voice echoing in the empty room. Steve had a vague idea on what that was, but made a confused face as he tried to figure it out.  
  
“Department Store, gramps.”  
  
“Let’s not forget who’s about to turn a hundred in March.”  
  
“Yeah Yeah, whatever. Seriously though, we are gonna have to get some furniture.”  
  
They soon found out that there were two bedrooms and a small bathroom for the both of them to share, along with a decent sized backyard. In a different life, maybe one of them would have lived in a home like this with someone they loved. But then again, it was already kinda like that. The house was perfect, but any place would be perfect with Bucky by his side, well, maybe not Nazi Germany, but you get what he’s saying.    
  
They hopped in the car towards the Target, Bucky having to input the directions onto his phone because Steve was too clueless to do it himself.  
  
“Gonna have to teach you how to use this one of these days.”  
  
“When did you become the tech-savvy one?”  
  
“Wakanda, man, that place is crazy.”  
  
They fell into comfortable banter, making comments about the places they saw, the ones they would try to check out and other things like that. Bucky parked masterfully in the cramped parking lot, also very quickly and it kinda scared Steve because the last thing he wanted was to write a note letting someone know that they just their parked car.  
  
They roamed the large store trying to find the essentials, realizing they never made a list, but deciding to just pick out whatever they thought they might need. Bucky grabbed a couple of monotone shirts and jeans, along with a leather jacket that Steve was a bit too excited to see him wear. Steve, who had been living off of 3 shirts and a pair of jeans for the past year and a half, grabbed some more light tee shirts and left it at that. Growing up poor and barely two cents to rub together, which was worth a lot more back in the day than it does today, left them both quite minimalistic.  
  
The mattresses that laid in both of their rooms had no sheets, so they grabbed some of their own. Bucky surprisingly went for a grey and white patterned one, and Steve grabbed some dark burgundy ones. They both grabbed the same black duvet, and Steve longed for his Ma’s quilt but decided to refrain from commenting about it in fear of ruining the mood.  
  
After about an hour of roaming through the store and grabbing items for their new home, along with many many groceries, they finally packed the bags into the trunk of their car and headed home. It was late by now, they were both beyond tired but still had so much work to do. They made their beds and decided to unpack first thing tomorrow, and said goodnight. Steve wanted to say so much more.  
  
He crashed on his bed, too tired to angst awake all night like he usually does.  
  
-  
  
Steve awoke to the smell of bacon, and immediately sprung up, and dashed out of his room.  
  
“Is that bacon I smell?”  
  
“No, it’s horse shit.” Bucky deadpanned and flipped the bacon on the pan. Steve rolled his eyes and walked towards him, placing a gentle arm on Bucky’s shoulder before going to grab a glass of orange juice from the fridge.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
“How’d you sleep?” Bucky asked with a shy smile.  
  
“Pretty good. First time in a while of not sleeping in a gross motel. You sleep okay?” Steve asked, to be polite, even though he already knew the answer. Bucky shrugged as his answer.  
  
“You still love bagels?”  
  
“If there’s one thing I remember, it’s my love of bagels.” Bucky jokes.  
  
“How much do you remember?”  
  
“Enough, most things I guess. I got a lot of them back when I went under. There’s still so many things I’m remembering even now.”  
  
“Like what?”  
  
“Like how you hate oranges, or how you’re a fucking little shit.”  
  
“Not so little anymore, Buck.” Steve quipped, and Bucky laughed warmly, his head tipped back and Steve got a nice view of the column of his throat.  
  
“Need any help?”  
  
“No, I got it.”  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
‘Yes, just… let me do this. Please?” Bucky’s eyes went soft for a moment, pleading Steve. “Go wash up or something, can’t stand the smell of ya morning breath.” Bucky sassed that warmth in his eyes still there. Steve pushed him lightly but went towards the bathroom to brush his teeth as per Bucky’s request. He found him staring in the mirror, getting lost in his own eyes, it sinking in that this is reality, that he and Bucky are together again, and that’s it not some messed up dream that he often found himself having.  
  
-  
  
They unpacked everything after they finished eating, putting in place all the decorations and clothes and all that. It took about an hour or two, but when they were done Steve already felt better. It was getting close to being home, as close to home as a random place in Twin Falls, Idaho could be.  
  
“So, what now?” Steve asked as they stood back, taking in their new home. There was a pause of silence, and then they looked at each other, and burst out laughing. Maybe it was out of sleep deprivation and delirium or confusion, they didn’t know.  
  
“I guess we just relax, right? I don’t even know what that is anymore, honestly.”  
  
“I could say the same,” Steve said as he walked into his room, grabbing the new leather sketchbook he bought at the store. When he returned, Bucky was sitting on the grey couch flipping through something on the TV, he didn’t know what it was.  
  
“It’s called Netflix. By the way, has all these TV shows and movies and other things. Shuri showed me it back in Wakanda.”  
  
“Oh, that’s… cool, I guess?”  
  
“Jeez Steve, try not to sound too excited.” Bucky set the controller down, and Steve settled on the couch, opening his sketchbook.  
  
“I guess we should have a backstory, for the neighbors and shit.”  
  
“Probably. We kinda suck at this fugitive stuff don’t we.”  
  
“Speak for yourself man.”  
  
“Right. So, have any ideas?”  
“Uh, so our new identities that Shuri so nicely gave us, name me as Will McMorris, which, terrible name by the way, and you as Ryan Grant, right?”  
  
“Yep. Does she even know that that’s my middle name?”  
  
“Probably. I mean, we can just go off our actual story, like we’re from New York, lifelong friends blah blah blah. Veterans and I got the camouflage thing that Shuri gave me for my arm. I should probably get a haircut too. People haven’t seen short haired Bucky, well I guess it’s Will now, in while. Also, long hair isn't really a suburban image, let's be honest.”  
  
“I can cut it for you if you want.”  
  
“Just like back in the day, right?” Bucky smiles, and Steve can’t help but do the same.  
  
-  
  
“Okay, if you’re feeling uncomfortable, let me know and I’ll stop.”  
  
“Sure thing, Captain.” Steve rolls his eyes and starts to brush out Bucky’s damp hair, going through the motions over and over again, getting lost in the dark brown locks. He takes the scissors and starts cutting, he can hear Buck take a sharp inhale, holding his breath for a moment, and then shakily releases. Steve stops for a moment, waiting for Bucky’s go ahead.  
  
“I’m fine, just keep on going,” Bucky assures Steve, even though he doesn't sound fine, like, at all. But Steve does as he wishes. After a couple minutes of him chopping away, Bucky’s shoulders gradually relaxed, and Steve moved towards the front to cut his hair by his face, and Bucky’s eyes were closed, until he opened them and looked at Steve with warmth there, and an overwhelming sense of deja vu shocked Steve, because it was that same weird look from before. Before the war, before trains and serums and Peggy and Aliens.  
  
He tried not to cry, so he looked away, and started cutting again.  
  
He finished, and Bucky got up, looking in the mirror. And he just kept looking.  
  
“Did I do okay?” Steve asked as he swept the hair on the bathroom tile in a dustpan.  
  
“Yeah,” Bucky’s voice got caught, and he cleared his throat, “You did good,” Bucky said curtly and walked into his room, and Steve emptied the dustpan and heard the door click shut.  
  
Steve knew his place, for the most part. As much as he wanted to burst into his room, hold him and make everything better and figure out what was wrong, he knew that he shouldn’t. They weren’t like that anymore.  
  
So, he whipped out his sketchbook, and drew. He drew them dancing from that one night from so long ago, when Bucky’s hair was how it was. He drew Bucky’s hair long, he drew it short, he drew them together, and sometimes not.  
  
Bucky came out a couple hours later, eyes red and face looking tired. But it was just so surreal to him looking like this again, short hair and a clean-shaven face. It felt like it was 1939 and they were living together back in that shoebox of an apartment, it felt like they were back in their own little world. In a way, they still are.  
  
Steve spent the rest of the night watching movies on that weird thing Bucky was looking earlier this morning, Netflix, right? Bucky never left his room, leaving Steve to his own devices. It felt too quiet without him. He went to bed early but didn’t sleep till late, wide awake wondering where he went wrong.  
  
-  
  
Steve didn’t sleep in this time, waking up early to try to attempt to cook breakfast. Needless to say, it didn’t go well, and he might or might not have burned the eggs, him being the worst cook of all time. It must’ve woken Bucky up because he came out of his room rubbing his eyes and looking a bit dazed.  
  
“Did you seriously burn the eggs?”  
  
“Maybe.”  
  
“Old habits die hard, huh?” Bucky teased, and Steve’s heart leaped at the revelation of Bucky remembering again.  
  
“Dick.” BUCKY IWANT UR DICK FOR BREAKFAST, steve thouht to himself trying not pop a chubby  
  
“I guess I’ll have to be the cook now, like ya damn housewife.” Bucky sassed, hip-checking Steve to move him away from the stove. He threw out the eggs and started to make his own batch. Steve laid back on the kitchen counter, watching Bucky’s movements as he cracked the eggs and feeling warmth fill his stupid heart at the domesticity of the moment. He tried to memorize the view to sketch it later.  
  
The fact that Buck knew exactly how he liked his eggs, soggy with no salt, made his heart fill with warmth as he ate the very delicious eggs.

  
Steve washed their dishes while Bucky sat on their couch writing in his journal, scribbling away with his illegible handwriting, remind Steve of the day back in Austria in their tent on those peaceful nights. Well, as peaceful as World War II could ever be. When he finished, Steve joined him on the couch, watching Bucky while pretending to watch some random show that he didn’t care about. After a while, Bucky spoke, shutting his journal.  
  
“I have therapy today, with my Wakanda therapist in about a couple minutes. Just letting you know.”  
  
“Oh. Do you want me to leave?”  
  
“If you want too, it’s up to you.”  
  
“I could use a run.”  
  
“Alright, well I’ll see you in an hour? Depends how long it’ll take.”  
  
“Okay. Good luck.”  
  
“When’s your session?” Bucky asked, and a cold feeling washed over Steve. He’d forgotten about it, Shuri’s words echoing in his head, telling him how he has to “face what he went through and work through it, for himself and for Bucky.” It was really the only reason he agreed to it because the last thing he wanted to do was do that. He wanted to keep running, wanted to keep ignoring everything. It was easier that way.  
  
“Tomorrow. Don’t remind me.” Steve grimaced, and walked in his room to change. He grabbed his house key and waved goodbye to Bucky,  
  
“Don’t get an asthma attack or something.” Bucky joked, laughing to himself. Steve flipped him the bird and walked out. He started to jog in some random direction along the street.  
  
It was peaceful for a bit, that is, until he ran into one of his neighbors. It was a blonde lady, about his age, well, the age he looked like. She waved to him, and Steve stopped, walking over to her.  
  
“Hi! You’re our new neighbor, right?”  
  
“That’s me. I’m Ryan.”  
  
“Dianne. How are you liking it so far?”  
  
“It’s pretty nice.”  
  
“It’s definitely something, or maybe something in relation to Idaho.” She smiled, laughing softly, and Steve gave her the fake Captain America laugh that he had mastered.  
  
“Yeah.” Was all he could say. There was a moment of silence, a short and very awkward one.  
  
“Well, me and my husband are having a barbecue tonight, everyone in the neighborhood’s invited. If you and your husband wanna come, Y'all can. My Noah makes some mean ‘ol ribs, it’s practically world famous.” She propositions, trying to seem casual. Steve’s breath hitched, his husband? Shit. They were talking about Bucky, they thought Bucky was his husband.  
  
“Uh, yeah. I’ll bring him.” Steve agreed, trying to not freak the fuck out, going along with it. It made sense, two men moving into a suburban home. He’d forgotten what the future was like. Back in Brooklyn, the idea of two men living together raised eyebrows, made people think differently. But not with him and Bucky, maybe people had their suspicions, but most saw it as Bucky taking care of his sick friend, for Steve couldn’t survive on his own, and Bucky was such a damn ladies man, no one could even think of them being a couple of queers.  
  
“Well, see you then! I live just around the corner. It starts at five.” Dianne informed him, walking away on her own walk, waving to Steve as she walked past him. Steve was frozen in his place, thinking about how they royally fucked up. They were going to have to pose as husbands, as people who were fucking in love with each other. At least Steve has the first half down.  
  
He started to run again, going faster than usual, but not too fast as to raise suspicions that he’s the super soldier that he in reality actually is.  
  
Things just got a lot more complicated.  
  
-  
  
He came back to the house later, sweaty and smelling like shit because he forgot to put on deodorant, like an idiot. Bucky’s on the couch, writing away in his journal looking pale-faced.  
  
“I may or may not have fucked up.”  
  
“I let you outta my sight an hour, and you already making poor decisions?”  
  
“Like you said earlier, old habits die hard.”  
“What’d you do?” Bucky asked, tentative. Steve sits down on the couch, nervous.  
  
“Long story short, I ran into one of our new neighbors and she invited me and ‘my husband’ to her barbecue. I just panicked, okay? I didn’t correct her.” Steve explains quickly, his nerves at a high point.  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Yeah, Oh. I’m really sorry Buck.”  
  
“I mean, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let me guess, you agreed to go?”  
  
“Technically.”  
  
“Well, I do I guess.”  
  
“I do?”  
  
“Gotta make it official, right?”  
  
“I guess so. I do, then.”  
  
They went to the Jewelry Shop and bought their rings, two gold ones in their sizes. They tried not to laugh their asses off at the absurdity of the whole situation at the jewelry store, only bursting out laughing in their Toyota as soon as the car doors closed.  
  
“Got any vows for me?”  
  
“You’re a fucking idiot, but I guess I’m your idiot now.” Bucky pauses, looking hesitant, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bucky slips the ring on Steve’s left ring finger, looking sincere in his words, his eyes holding that weird look from before.  
  
“James Buchanan Barnes, if there was anyone I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, It’d be you.” Steve decides to be genuine because he can’t think of anything else to say. He’d always wanted this, to be Bucky’s forever, even if now it really isn’t real, if everything he’s ever wanted was really some dumb situation he’d gotten them into. He thinks back to DC; when he would roam into the suburbs, looking at the houses and the families and the occasional gay couple; thinking about how it would look like if Bucky and he were together in this century. Steve puts the ring on Bucky’s ringer and looks away from him, not wanting to miss his reaction. It actually magnetized itself onto Bucky’s arm, for they were both metals. It was kinda funny, them both laughing at it.  
  
“Guess it came in handy,” Steve laughs, “Ha, handy. Now you ain’t ever gonna get rid of it.”  
“Maybe so,” Bucky says, quiet now. Steve didn’t miss the small smile on his face that never left as they drove home.  
  
-  
  
It was about mid-afternoon by the time they got back. On the way home, an animal pound caught Steve’s eye, and he stored it in the back of his mind, maybe hoping that one day they’d get a dog. They’d always wanted one back in Brooklyn, but had always been too damn broke to afford another mouth to feed. He thinks it’d be good for both of them, to have someone else to take care of.  
  
They had about three hours to kill before they had to attend the dreaded barbecue, they had never ever been to a barbecue, never had any of those back in Brooklyn. Bucky went straight to the kitchen and grabbed some ingredients, saying how he’s gonna have to bring something for the cookout, it was the polite thing to do, after all.  
  
Steve watched Bucky work as Billie Holiday played in the back as he sketched the scene of Bucky cooking strangely delicious eggs from this morning, recreating to the best of his abilities Bucky’s newly shortened hair, the flex of his muscles, his metal arm, the delicate and precise touch of his hands. He didn’t have to move to the back anymore, he tried to push himself to not do that. It had only been about 20 minutes until Bucky flopped on their couch, music still playing softly in the back.  
  
“What’d you make?”  
  
“Potato salad. According to Sam, that’s what all the barbecues have. He demanded that I not put raisins in it, whatever that means.”  
  
“Have you even ever had it before.”  
  
“No, but it tastes pretty damn good.”  
  
-  
  
They walked over to the barbecue, looking at all the cars parked on the street.  
  
“I guess we’ll have to look like a married couple now,” Bucky said as he reached out to grab Steve’s hand, threading their fingers together. It felt warm, and it felt right, felt like Bucky’s hand was made for Steve’s. Bucky was wearing his clothes from earlier before, his camouflage skin on his metal arm. He looked at the rings on their fingers, heart leaping from earlier before.  
  
“Sure thing, Will.”  
  
“Right, Ryan. Uh, who’s last name are we taking?”  
  
“Up to you.”  
  
“I like Grant, it’s only fitting.” Bucky squeezed his hand, smiling at Steve. There was already a couple walking into the couple’s backyard, holding what only looked like chopped fruit. They made their way into the backyard, taking in the sight of a folded table filled with food and a cooler filled with beer. Diane, caught sight of them and waved, a big smile on her face.  
  
“Ryan! You made it.”  
  
“Sure did. This is Will, my… husband.”  
  
“Will! Please to meet you. I’m Diane.” She turned and motioned towards a black man wearing khakis and a blue sweater, who was talking to someone who could only be another one of their neighbours.  
  
“Nice to meet you! This is Noah, my husband. Our kids are over there,” She points to two children, maybe seven and ten years old, a boy and a girl, swinging on a beaten up swing set.  
“Kayla and Trevor”. Make yourself welcome, don’t be shy. We’re all a family in this town.”  
  
“Noah.” The man reaches out to shake Steve’s hand, then to Bucky, who readjusts the bowl of potato salad to return the handshake.  
  
“Ryan,” Steve introduces himself with a smile, trying not to seem awkward.  
  
“Will,” Bucky says, using the fake smile he’s so used to giving.  
  
“Thanks for having us over, really.”  
  
“Oh, it’s no problem. Happy to have you.” Diane says with a smile, waving them off.  
  
The rest of night went okay, they both ate good food and chatting with their new neighbors, even if Bucky didn’t talk much. Before the war, they didn’t talk much to their neighbors, and it was always Bucky doing the talking, never Steve. They didn’t like Steve, always looked down on him and his endless health issues, most likely thinking about how he was better off dead rather than be sickly.  
  
This time, it was Steve doing the talking, putting on that fake persona that he’d mastered as soon as he became Captain America. They held hands the entire night as they met their new neighbors, ones coming in all shapes and sizes. They were all nice enough, even if the older couples batted a couple eyes at them, most likely from the sight of two men together. It made Steve's chest hurt, bringing back that old feeling of conflict, of Steve thinking that it was wrong to be like this with another man. He had accepted the reality of it long ago, back when something like this was once worse than being a damn Nazi. But then he woke up in a world of acceptance, the adjustment of it all causing a different type of hurt, that maybe if he was born in a different century, he could have Bucky like this; for real this time. It was a nice thought, something that he didn’t allow himself to think about when he thought Bucky was long gone the fantasizing about it seemed pointless to entertain such ideas. Maybe now it was just as pointless, but now there was a lingering thought of false hope.  
  
The ways of the older men and women’s thinking was outdated, and Steve’s old thoughts just the same. But this time, he had most of society accepting his ways, even if they didn’t know about how Captain America felt about men. It was still comforting.  
  
So yeah, they were on the wrong side of history, people seemed to brush it off, blaming it on the notion that they were born in a different time. If only they knew that Steve and Bucky were born in a world just as the one they others were in, but actually much worse than anyone could have ever imagined. It was kind of funny, the irony of the whole situation.  
  
Who knew that two men born in a world where being a queer could have you end up dead in a ditch were doing the one thing everyone was afraid of?  
  
Steve was secretly nervous, scared that maybe they saw the familiar face of Captain America past the beard and saw The Winter Soldier past the two flesh-looking arms and short hair. They didn’t seem to, but there was always that fear that they would be found and locked up. They’ve come too far to be separated again, to lose it all.  
  
The rest of the night, they mingled amongst their neighbors, most asking questions about where they were before they moved in, how long they had been married, with both Steve and Buck pulling the answers out of their ass. Saying shit like, “oh, we tied the knot maybe 2 years ago, right Ryan?” and “Oh, we decided that Grant sounded much better than Grant-McMorris, doesn’t have the same ring to it.” Their neighbors seemed friendly enough, Dianne and Noah welcoming them with open arms. Steve might have faked a couple laughs, but they mostly had fun.  
  
It almost felt real, them talking about their fake relationship. About how they met as teenagers, but parted in the war, and reconnected years later, and the rest was history. They talked about dumb stories from back then, partially fake but spouted from a kernel of truth.  
  
They parted ways with their neighbors, him and Bucky both knowing that they are going to avoid them like the plague, so they don't have to play this whole married crap more than they have to. It felt good though, the entire night of them pretending to be in love and all that. If it weren’t for the bundles of nerves in his stomach, he would have enjoyed it more. His hand felt cold when they finally separated as soon as Bucky closed the door of their home.  
  
“That went better than I thought it would.” Bucky stated awkwardly.  
  
“Yeah, I was a bit worried they would all say ‘are you that Captain America guy?’ I guess folks in Idaho aren’t as informed as I thought.”  
  
“Or, Maybe they just didn’t see through the beard.”  
  
“I guess it did come in handy,” Steve pauses, a smile forming on his face,  
  
“Don’t say it,” Bucky warned, getting closer to Steve, a taunting glare on his face.  
  
“Handy,” Steve dared him. Bucky smiled, and charged at Steve, roughhousing and giving him a nuggy, which, ow, by the way. Steve tapped Bucky’s thigh to get him to stop. Bucky released him, having a devilish smirk on his face.  
  
“How was therapy?” Steve asked because he’d forgotten to, his mind being preoccupied with the whole fake marriage situation. Bucky removed the skin camouflage, tossing it on the table. He fiddled with the ring on his finger, and Steve noticed that they both haven’t taken them off yet.  
  
“It was okay. I don’t really see the point honestly. It can’t… it can’t take back anything.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” Steve regrets asking.  
  
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m just too fucked up to fix, but my therapist tells me it’s not about fixing, or whatever. About coping, or some bullshit. But, how can I cope with myself, how can I believe I deserve to.” Bucky said, coming out like a strained whisper, like he was afraid of his own words. In a way, Steve was too. He didn’t know what to say, what to say to make it better.  
  
It hit Steve, it hit him hard. It was a reality they were both afraid of facing, one that was filled with regret and things you can’t take back, filled with pain and sorrow. He hates himself for thinking it, but he doesn’t think he could live with himself either if he had done the things Bucky had. But in a way, it makes Bucky stronger, it would make him stronger if he pulled through it, if he forgave himself.  
  
He knows that won’t happen, because sometimes forgiveness is another type of pain that humans can’t endure, and maybe that’s why we can’t forgive ourselves, because letting go feels like you're over it, but you’re never over it. It feels like you’re faking it, faking being okay with it, faking being okay with it all.  
  
“Sometimes, that’s all we can do, to live with it. Forgive.” Steve’s words are so lost, and they feel fake. He doesn’t believe them either, but he wants more than anything for Bucky to.  
  
“I don’t want to forgive. I don’t want to.” Bucky says, his voice sounding more and more choked up by the minute. Steve’s feeling the tightness in his chest too, he feels what Bucky’s experiencing down to his core, even if he might not ever endure it to the same degree, he feels it. He doesn’t have any words, any words that could explain anything. He’s never been good with them, and never will be.  
  
So, he goes up to Bucky and tries to wrap his arm around him. Bucky stays frozen in place, his arms by his side, like he’s afraid of touching another human with that damn metal arm. Like he doesn't believe he can do anything but harm with it. He doesn’t return the hug, and Steve understands and lets go of him.  
  
“What now?”  
  
“I don’t know. I just want to forget, right now. I’ve hit my tears limit for today.” Bucky tries to joke, tries to break the tension. It doesn’t work, but Steve pretends it does.  
  
“Wanna play cards?”  
  
“Too much thinking. Let’s just watch TV or something.”  
  
“Okay,” Steve says, even though he doesn’t like TV, doesn’t like the moving pictures that are too clear and have color and don’t feel real. It just reminds him that he’s in the future, in the place he doesn’t fit in and does want to be.  
  
He’s never felt like he fits anywhere. When he was skinny, he felt out of place around all the abled bodies and beautiful people. He’d always felt like an outlier, like a damn queer who wished he could be like everyone else. When he became the super soldier that he is now, he felt even more awkward, this wasn’t his body anymore, he didn’t know it.  
  
So they sat there for a couple hours, watching with minds somewhere else, thinking about everything while trying to think of nothing. After a while, Steve’s eyes started to feel heavy and when he looked over to Bucky, he saw his eyes droop as well. Steve sat up, and held out a hand towards Bucky, staring at the ring on his finger. Bucky grabbed it, pulling himself up. They walked towards their bedroom, going inside but not without nodding their heads at each other.  
  
Steve changed into his clothes, an oversized shirt to remind of the times when all of his shirts fit like that. It didn’t work, it still felt tight, but maybe that’s how his chest felt, how his lungs felt. Maybe that was just because his eyes still worked, his feet weren’t flat and his spine was straight.  
  
He laid awake for too long but eventually fell asleep.  
  
He woke up to screaming. He didn’t know what to do, he wanted to rush into Bucky’s room, engulf him in his arms and make the pain go away. He didn’t want to intrude though, potentially make everything worse. So he stayed put, deciding to ask Bucky about it in the morning, thinking to himself and fighting the urge to go into Bucky’s room.  
  
It didn’t work.  
  
He got up, rushing into Bucky’s room, to be met with the sight of Bucky huddled on the floor, holding himself. He sat next to him, seeing Bucky recoil into himself, breathing heavy.  
  
“Don’t.” He breathed again, sounding scared. He was breathing heavy, holding himself tighter. “You’re not.. Not safe.” He was crying, his eyes darting around everywhere, everywhere but Steve.  
  
“You won’t hurt me. I trust you.”  
  
“You shouldn’t!” Bucky exploded. Steve knows he’s crossing a line, but can’t bring himself to stand up. He slings a shoulder over Bucky, bringing him in closer. He feels Bucky start to relax after a couple minutes, his breaths becoming more even and deep. He thinks of the irony of the situation, of the role reversal when Bucky would hold him during one of his asthma attacks, pressed a hand against his chest trying to make his breathing even out. After what felt like 20 minutes, Bucky speaks again,  
  
“Don’t leave.” He pauses, “Stay.” Steve squeezes him,  
  
“Okay.” Is all he can say. He waits for Bucky to move, waits for him to settle into his bed. Steve follows, doing what he does best, he’s never ran away from Bucky, maybe the Winter Soldier, but never Bucky.  
  
Bucky slides into his bed, holding Steve’s hand. Steve crawls into it, pulling the covers over them both. He doesn’t touch Bucky, not yet, waiting for Bucky to come towards him. Bucky turns his back away from Steve, who takes it as an invitation to hold Bucky. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Bucky wants nothing to do with him. He went against that thought and moved closer, pressing Bucky’s back against his chest, throwing an arm over his torso. He tucks his chin in the crook of Bucky’s neck, finally understanding why Bucky always did this back in Brooklyn.  
  
Bucky sighs in content, taking a deep breath. Steve keeps his eyes open, admiring the small view he had of Bucky. It was a role reversal that Steve would have never imagined that could happen. It felt right, it felt helpful, like maybe he was doing something right for once. They were both hurting, both hurting from everything that had happened and everything that's happening now. Bucky needed comfort, it was something that he most likely hadn’t gotten for nearly a century.  
  
-  
  
Steve wakes up alone. However, wakes up with an apartment that smells of something sugary and delicious. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and gets up, making way towards the kitchen. He stops at the door, making note of the black journal on the nightstand. Curiosity runs through his veins but he leaves the room anyway. That wouldn’t be fair to Bucky, even if Steve wants nothing more right now than to open it and access the mind of James Buchanan Barnes.  
  
When he walked into the living area, Bucky was setting down a plate of what seemed to be pancakes on their dining table, another plate already there. He turns at Steve, giving him a shy smile.  
  
“Good Morning.”  
  
“Morning. Are those pancakes?” Steve doesn’t ask how he slept, he already knows.  
  
“Yeah, more so apology pancakes, but still pancakes.”  
  
“Apology pancakes?”  
  
“Well, for last night. You know, nightmare and all that.”  
  
“Oh. I didn’t mind, you don’t have to apologize.”  
  
“I do though.”  
  
“you woulda done it for me.”  Steve tries to assure him, going to sit and Bucky follows suit. There’s a tension in the air, one that seemed to trap them.  
  
“You know, I’ve never actually had pancakes before.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yeah, really! I’m not kidding, I just you know, never thought to try them.”  
  
“Well, not to brag, but my pancakes are fucking amazing,” Bucky says with a look in his eye, the same look that he used on girls back when he was totally trying to brag.  
  
They were in fact, very good pancakes.  
  
-  
  
Steve sat in front of the computer, ready for his video chat therapy session that he wasn’t really looking forward to. He waited until the clock read 12:00 before pressing call. Someone picked up immediately, and Steve was faced with a dark skin woman with big curly hair and glasses on. She had a warm smile on her face, one that felt inviting.  
  
She introduced herself as Amina, she had a Wakandan accent that was nice to listen to. She’s the therapist appointed by T'challa, talking about how it was such an honor to be chosen as the one to help Steve “through his journey”, her words, not Steve’s. Steve himself was feeling uncomfortable, he didn’t know what therapy was like, he didn’t know how he should be acting, what he should be saying.  
  
“You look uncomfortable.” She points out, and Steve gets an idea what therapy is really like.  
  
“Well, I’m just confused on what I should be saying right now.”  
  
“There’s nothing you should be saying, just say whatever you want. I’m like your sponge, a sponge that’s going to help you work through everything and give you the skills to cope.”  
  
“Oh. And how exactly do I ‘work through’ things.”  
  
“Well, there’s a bunch of different ways we can do it. See, there’s this thing called homeostasis, it’s basically boiled down to your brain has these certain constant ways of thinking, like a computer. This keeps people from changing, and even realizing you need to change. It’s not harmful, but it can be if you have a negative way of living and thinking.” Amina explained, sounding clear and confident, but it just left Steve with more questions, so he didn’t say anything. Luckily, she wasn’t done talking.  
  
“These sessions are going to help you challenge those patterns, whatever they might be, to keep you stable and mentally ready for life. But, it’s hard work. There has been experiences in your life that have placed that pattern, and in order to change it, we’ll have to process what those things are. Steve, I have a feeling you’ve never had a chance to talk about everything you’ve been through, and that you’ve been holding it in for practically a century.” She finishes, her warm eyes looking into his sympathetically, yet her face is blank, but maybe that’s what therapists are supposed to do. He doesn’t feel threatened by it, it was merely a neutral expression. He was more focused on taking in the information, on how she hit the nail right on the head.  
  
“Yeah, I really have.”  
  
“Do you want to let it out?”  
  
“I don’t know. I guess I’ll find out, huh?”  
So he tells her the story that the damn exhibit didn’t. The same one that, last he heard, was closed as soon as Steve told the US government to shove those Accords where the sun don’t shine in order to go and save his friend. And also, because those Accords were the biggest load of bullshit since the shows he performed in World War II. And that’s saying something.  
  
He tells her about Brooklyn, about how he was seen as someone better left off dead. He tells her about being rejected over and over again, by peers and by girls. He tells her about Bucky, how he was his best friend and the times they were there for one another. He leaves out the feelings he has for him, he’s not ready for that. The only person he could even say those words out loud is long dead, taking to the grave the words that Steve spoke in the bar that night. He feels like he can trust Amina already, though he doesn’t know if he can even take talking about anything that would scratch the surface.  
  
It’s all exposition, everything he’s saying. Though, when he reminisces, it feels nice, it feels light.  
  
So he keeps on talking, going on and on about his days before the serum, and after it. He tries to avoid the topics of the war, but some things can’t be left out. His throat feels a little tight as the memories become more than just a scene in his head, ones that had been unknown to any alive person besides Bucky. Though, Steve can’t bring himself to talk about them with him either.  
  
She nods along the whole time, not saying a word, but looking enticed the whole time, listening along and soaking up everything. She really is a sponge, a damn good one. He doesn’t go into detail about crashing into the ocean, only saying “And then, you know, I crashed the plane into the ocean, and all that.” She doesn’t press, even though he can tell she wants to.  
  
He goes on for another hour after that, talking about his days in DC, the ones where he couldn’t bear to just sit and be with anything and everything. He talks about Sam, raves about the guy really, going on and on about how he was there for him when he needed him most, about his unwavering loyalty to Steve. He talks about Tony, a tightness in his chest stays present while their days as friends, and mentioning briefly the ache that he still feels from losing such a close friend.  
  
“And now, we’re in the present, I guess.” He finishes, glancing at the clock and seeing that almost two hours have passed by, and marveled at the amazing sponge that is his new therapist. Amina wasn’t fucking around when she said that, apparently.  
  
“Felt good to get that out, right?” She has a small smile on her face.  
  
“Depends on your definition of good, but I haven’t really talked about it before. At loud at least, I guess I thought no one would care to listen. But maybe I was just worried of scaring people away.” Steve humors her, but it’s short-lived.  
“Why are you afraid of people running away?” She asks, but he has a feeling she already knows the answer.  
  
“Because I don’t want to lose anyone else. I only really had Bucky growing up, and then he was gone. And then it felt like I had no one, felt like there was no one there. There’s Sam, of course. But I was scared that once I started talking about it then he would leave me too.” Steve confesses, the feeling in his chest intensifying. He doesn’t like this, but it feels good. It feels good to get it out. It feels so raw, a bare feeling that he’s not used to, it doesn't feel wrong, it just hurts.  
  
“Did you ever wonder that maybe the reason it felt so alone because you weren’t being Steve? That the reason for it, and you weren’t letting yourself be the real Steve? You weren't showing that part of you to people, causing a gap between the ones you were around?”  
  
“No. I didn’t think of that. It makes sense.” Steve says, and he feels dumb now, berating himself in his head for not being better. It frustrates him beyond no end, but it’s only directed at himself.  
  
“What are you feeling right now?” She asks, that same neutral expression on her face. In a way, it’s comforting.  
  
“Regret, honestly. I’m just feeling like I could have done better.”  
  
“Does not being perfect scare you?”  
  
“Yeah. It does.” Steve admitted, his voice soft.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because, when I was ‘Captain America’ and all that, I was this image of perfection. And people loved it. People didn’t love Steve Rogers, people didn’t love this skinny little dude with a fucked up body. Now, I guess it’s just been burned into my brain.” Steve tells her, the words pouring out of him, not being able to stop. He barely knows what he’s saying anymore, but it doesn’t feel like lies, it feels so real and foreign.  
  
“Did you like being Captain America?”  
  
“Some parts. I liked helping people, I still do. I just, I hated this image that I was supposed to be, I hated that.”  
  
“What was the image?”  
  
“This all perfect, law-abiding guy who was just there to get people to buy bonds and was the ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan’, little did they know I actually broke the law like, at least 5 times trying to get in the army and I wasn’t even close to what they wanted me to be” and I was also queer for my best friend, he thought to himself, but held his tongue. “it didn’t feel real.”  
  
“Do you feel real?”  
  
“I don’t even know what real is anymore. I mean, I know who I am, like when I’m fighting, when I’m doing what’s right, that feels real. But now that I don’t have that, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Steve looks away, not being able to bear looking in her face as he confesses something he didn’t even know he had to confess, a feeling that he didn’t even know existed.  
  
“Who said you ever had to stop doing what’s right?”  
  
-  
  
They end the call about a half hour later, leaving Steve feeling raw yet his mind feels more open and clear. He leaves his room and sees Bucky settled on the couch, knitting.  
  
“How was therapy?” Bucky asks him as soon as Steve sits on their couch.  
  
“Does it always feel like that?” He asks. It made Bucky laugh, a genuine one, making him feel warm.  
  
“Depends on the session.”  
  
“Noted. Are you knitting?”  
  
“Yes, Thought I would try it. Give something for me to do with my hands. It’s hard as fuck, by the way.” Bucky explains, not looking up from his knitting. Steve looks at the way the yarn loops, at the repetitive motions, and then the progress Bucky made, at the unevenness and awkward patches.  
  
“It kinda looks like shit, not gonna lie.”  
  
“I’m glad I have your support,” Bucky says dryly. Steve shoves him slightly, a bit playful.  
  
“You know what I mean. What’re you makin’?”  
  
“A scarf. I think.”  
  
“You think?”  
  
“Well, it supposed to be a scarf, we’ll see how that turns out.”  


They sat there for a while, Bucky knitting horribly and having it get more and more crooked as time went by, and Steve sketching Bucky knit. He seems to only sketch Bucky nowadays. Bucky stopped after a while to start cooking and when Steve offered to help, he told him that he wouldn’t want Steve to burn down the house they just moved into.  
  
-  
  
The rest of the night went smoothly, Bucky knitted and Steve sketched their kitchen while they sat on their grey coach and Bing Crosby played softly in the background. Steve eyes started to droop after a bit and said a quick goodnight to Bucky. Bucky got up and yawned, his shirt riding up a bit showing his stomach. He told Steve that maybe he should go to sleep too.  
  
They both brushed their teeth in their small bathroom, Bucky sitting on the toilet with the lid closed, and Steve in front of their one sink.  
  
They bid goodnight and went into their respective rooms. Steve and he both knew that another nightmare would come. They didn’t talk about it.  
  
It was so weird now, if that’s even a good word for it, the wall between them that was not there before. Sure, they had never been one to talk about feelings before, but back then, they knew when they were struggling and without words they could comfort each other. Now, they knew about their struggles and felt so stilted to even do anything about it. They didn’t know where their friendship laid and what boundaries were in place.  
  
Steve hated it, but he knew that was nothing he could do about it. Nothing that he knew of at least, maybe he’ll talk to Amina about it next week.  
  
Sleep did not come easy, but eventually, it did come.  
  
Though it was soon interrupted by the creak of Steve’s door opening, Bucky’s dark figure shown even in the nighttime.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve said, his voice a stark contrast to the silence in the room. Bucky didn’t say anything. He had a look of hesitation on his face, and then turned around and shut the door, leaving the room he never entered.  
  
Steve, however, was not having it. Bucky needed him, had even gone to him but still decided to go against whatever was going on inside his head. Steve didn’t know why. Bucky quite literally put another wall between the two of them. Not that Steve hadn’t also created the first one.  
He thinks back to what Amina said, about letting people in, showing the real Steve. Maybe he doesn’t know who that is, but really, there’s only one way to find out. So, he gets up, following Bucky. He opened the door of Bucky’s room, only to find it empty.  
He proceeded to check the entire house, it only took about a minute for it was a modest size, and to no avail, Bucky was nowhere be found. Inside the house, that is. Steve opens the back door, already prepared to break into a sprint to find Bucky.  
  
Luckily, Bucky was sitting on the damp grass, Thighs pressed against his stomach in a folded position, his hands in his hair, pulling tightly. Bucky didn’t look up at him and Steve wasn’t sure if it was because Bucky didn’t hear him, or if he couldn’t bear to look at Steve. There was a small voice, lingering in the back of his buzzing head that told him that Bucky didn’t want Steve to be there, thought that maybe if he ignored Steve, that Steve would finally leave Bucky alone. There was a feeling of doubt, that Bucky never wanted Steve here in the first place.  
  
He pushed aside that voice, sitting next to Bucky with his legs crossed. Bucky was shaking, the knuckles on his right hand white from pulling on his hair so tightly, and his breaths were coming in labored.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve asked, quiet. Bucky didn’t say anything, but he only pulled tighter on his short hair, a straggled groan escaping him, yet it sounded so restrained. Steve could only imagine what type of pain he was holding back. It scared him.  
  
“Bucky, please-- are you okay?” Steve pleaded, more desperate this time. There was no answer, only the same sounds of restrained emotions and labored breaths. They became shorter and shorter, Bucky starting to hyperventilate even more.  
  
“Bucky? Bucky! Breathe! Breathe for me, please!” Bucky shook his head violently, causing confusion out of Steve, why didn’t he want to calm down? Was it Steve?  
  
“Bucky, please, just breathe. I won’t bother you again, I’ll leave you be, if that’s what you want,” Bucky’s head shook even more violently, his body now slightly rocking back and forth. So, Bucky didn’t want Steve to go, but then, what was the problem?  
  
He knew he probably shouldn’t touch Bucky, he knows that’s most likely the last thing Bucky wants right now, but Steve’s desperate, and even if it gets him thrown 20 feet, it doesn’t matter. So he grabs the arm closest to him, the right one, and starts to bring it to his own chest. There's restraint at first, tense and curt. But Steve brings his hand from Bucky’s forearm to interlock their fingers together, pulling it towards Steve’s chest. The tension in Bucky’s arm relaxes, but Bucky’s body stays the same, in the shaking, labored movements.  
  
_He holds Bucky’s palm flat against his chest like Bucky used to do back in Brooklyn with Steve during his asthma attacks, “Just match my breathing Steve, it’s okay, I got you.” In those moments, even when Steve couldn’t talk and his breath was wheezing and the air didn’t seem to fill his lungs, he tried to express his gratitude, even if he couldn’t. His eyes were moving sporadically, in a frenzy, and Steve felt the heartbeat on Bucky’s chest moving just as fast as Steve’s own, panicked. They were both feeling the same thing in those moments: Fear._

  
Steve felt the warmth in Bucky’s hand again his own palm, doing his best to breathe as deeply as possible, to try to teach him how to breathe again. They sat there on the damp grass, the water leaking through their pajama pants, for god knows how long, breathing. It took awhile for Bucky’s to even out, it happening slow and gradual.  
  
Even after Bucky’s breath had become even out and deep, there was stilted silence in the air, Steve being afraid to speak, but Bucky’s hand was still on his chest, Steve soaking in the warmth.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Bucky broke the silence, his voice cracking and a whisper in the dark.  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Everything, just everything. For making you deal with all of this, even though you gave up everything for me.”  
  
“I didn’t have much to begin with Buck, and even if I did, I would still give it all up.” Steve squeezed his hand, hoping to get his message through. He would give up anything for Bucky, just to have him back in his life again.  
  
Bucky doesn’t say anything, but shakes his head and closes his eyes again. Their hands were now interlocked and resting in Steve lap, with Steve running his thumb against Bucky’s knuckles.  
  
“Everything I close my eyes, I see them. When my eyes are open, I think of them. I think about the people--” His voice breaks off, and Bucky lifts his head, his cheek filled with tears not yet wiped away.  
  
“I’m never going to get over this, I’m never going to be the Bucky you once knew. I hate it. I hate that I can’t be that for you anymore, and it hurts. Because if it wasn’t for Hydra, I wouldn’t be here. It feels like a fucking reward. Like, I murdered all of those fucking people, and I get to be with you in end, while they’re fucking in a ditch or in a grave or burned to a crisp because of me. I know you think that: ‘oh it wasn’t you,’ but it doesn’t matter. Maybe you can live with what I’ve done, maybe you can look past it all, but Steve; I fucking can’t. And maybe, I shouldn’t have the luxury to be happy after all of this. It doesn’t seem right, doesn’t seem fair.”  
  
Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t know how he can say to make any of it better, but at the end of the day, he doesn’t think he could say anything that would make Bucky think differently, even if it was the right thing to say. Steve can’t make everything go away, there’s nothing he can do or say that would change the way Bucky feels.  
  
All he can do now is be there and listen. So, he takes Bucky in his arms, holding him tight against him, rubbing his back. Bucky bursts, choking out sobs, his tears staining Steve’s shirt. Steve lets him, it’s the least he can do.  
  
They stay like that, for a while, Steve stays there, taking in Bucky’s straggled cries and shaky breath until they stopped. Until it seemed like Bucky couldn’t cry anymore, like the tears ran out. His hand seemed to travel up to Bucky’s hair a bit ago, petting him and stroking the soft short strands.  
  
Bucky stilled in his arms, and Steve brought his mouth close to Bucky’s brown locks and whispered, “Let’s go to bed,” because really, there was nothing left to do. Steve knew that even if the tears stopped, the feelings still were there at the same intensity.  
  
He feels Bucky nod against his chest, and Steve pulls them both up, Bucky leaned against him the whole way back into Bucky’s bed. He laid Bucky in the covers, and looked at him for a moment, looking into those steel blue eyes, eyes red from crying and filled with emotion and sorrow. He climbed into the bed.  
  
For a moment, They both laid apart, not touching. Then, Bucky reached over, lying his head on Steve’s broad chest, throwing his metal arm over his torso, holding on tightly. It was a different feeling, the arm touching him in a way filled with care and gentleness, something Steve wasn’t used to.  
  
Steve traced patterns in the small of Bucky’s back where his shirt had ridden up slightly, feeling the soft skin with his heart beating fast in fear of judgment. This, this was something they had never done before, but then again, they barely do what they used to anymore. Bucky’s breath tickled Steve’s chest, causing the fabric to brush against his skin.  
  
Steve shut his eyes, falling asleep listening to Bucky deep breaths, but he had memorized the sound of Bucky’s breath long ago, and he knew that Bucky was still wide awake. He lulled himself to sleep, tranced by the strange and ironic tranquility of the whole thing, thinking back of the times before the war, when Steve was too small to hold Bucky, how they comforted each other without using words, knowing the pain the both of them were feeling and yet couldn’t vocalize. He wonders if Bucky remembers those times, but doesn’t ask.  
  
-  
  
The next few days went okay. They weren’t great, but most days weren’t. Sam called, letting them know how Wakanda was going and Steve updated him on how Idaho was. Bucky walked in on them talking on the phone and immediately left the room, not wanting to intrude but also out of discomfort. Sam and Bucky had an unusual relationship, to say the least, with Sam not really liking Bucky completely, maybe for it was the fact that Bucky completely destroyed his car, but Steve couldn’t help but think that if Sam really got to know him, he’d like him a lot more. Hopefully, when Sam joins the neighborhood he’ll get to know Bucky for real.  
  
Steve asked Sam if Shuri or T’challa were around, but Sam tells him they’re off on official Wakanda business, unfortunately. Steve made a note to call again later to give his thanks for giving Steve and Bucky all they had. They were paying for everything, a therapist, the house they lived in, the credit card to pay for anything. Steve would be forever grateful, they made their journey a hell of a lot easier.  
  
They talked for another hour, Sam making a few offhanded comments on getting to know the Wakanda ladies and the guards, which surprised Sam. He decided not to comment on it.  
  
They say their goodbyes, Sam letting him know he’d be arriving in about a couple weeks, vowing to call Steve again soon. Steve couldn’t be happier, he missed the hell outta Sam, it wasn’t the same without him.  
  
-  
  
It was a couple days later when it happened. Bucky was still having nightmares, and Steve was always there to help him, even when Bucky sometimes shied away from him. They weren’t going to bed together, but they sure as hell woke up together, Bucky making him an apology breakfast each and every time; as if Steve even needed one.  
  
Then, Bucky had a really bad day.  
  
Steve woke up in his own bed for a change, sleeping in this time. He left his room expecting to see Bucky making breakfast, something he was starting to take for granted now. But this time, Bucky was not in their kitchen in the apron that Steve didn’t know existed, whistling away as he cooked in their kitchen, or knitting on their couch, his stitches improving each day.  
  
Steve went to Bucky’s room, knocking softly on his door but getting no response. He entered the room, to see Bucky wide awake on his back, staring up at the ceiling with blank wide eyes and in a stiff position.  
  
“Bucky?” Steve asked, confused. He gets no answer. Steve moves in closer, his concern growing. Bucky doesn’t even look at him, just staring up at the ceiling, like a corpse, though the breaths in the all too quiet room say otherwise.

 

“Bucky? Are you okay?” Steve asks, even if the question has a glaring answer. He keeps on spitballing questions, asking if there’s anything he can do, what’s going on and calling his name a couple more times as if it’s going to do anything.

 

He doesn’t know what to do, he’s never seen Bucky like this, so silent and still. Even in his sleep Bucky moves, but this, _this,_ he doesn’t know stillness in someone like James Buchanan Barnes. Steve stands over his bed a bit, debating what to do, his mind stumped. He could leave Bucky be, let him deal with whatever is going on in his head that is so debilitating his own body couldn’t bare it. But Steve has never been one to run away from Bucky, and he most likely never will.

 

He moves to the kitchen, fixing up the only thing he couldn’t burn, which is oatmeal. He makes two bowls of it, and somehow juggles two bowls and a glass of water for Bucky in his arms, shoving one of the bowls in the crook of his elbow against his side. He places the bowls and water on Bucky’s nightstand, and then quickly moves to his room to grab his sketchbook. He comes back, not surprised but still a bit disturbed to see Bucky in this state, already deciding not to sketch Bucky in a state like this.

 

He settles in the bed next to Bucky, sitting up and sketching the dresser facing him, shading in each detail he could see with his much improved sight, putting time into shading everything just right. Every so often, he looks over to Bucky to see if anything had changed, even just a little, see if his eyes had moved to a different position, if Bucky was doing something, _anything,_ but to avail, everything had stayed the same.

 

After an hour, Steve was now sketching memories from Brooklyn, the dark alleys he knew all too well, the sights of young kids playing in the street using whatever they could find as a toy, for no one could afford such a luxury then. He starts to get bored, missing Bucky’s presence even if the man was right next to him.

 

“I don’t know if you remember this, but there was this one time, you were so mad at me, but you could never stay mad at me, you got over it eventually. I was real mad, you know how I am, he was picking on some kid, I don’t even remember any of their names, so don’t feel bad if you don’t either. But, he was getting all in his face, calling him names. That kid looked so scared, being cornered by some dude who would of kick both of our asses, even you, Mr. six-foot, dock working son of a bitch that you were. You could tell it was all a game for him, pickin’ on kids like that, but then, I saw the kid punch the dude straight in the face, but it wasn’t very good, even I wouldn’t of been knocked down by one of ‘em, and the guy, he _laughed,_ and shoved him down hard, kicking him ‘n shit. I just got so mad, you know? You weren’t around though, not yet, and I just sprinted towards the guy, pushing him off. Then, _I_ got knocked down too, but luckily the kid ran away as soon as the dude found some other shrimp to kick, and I just remember you caught up behind me, because you were tryna buy some food or something, can’t remember, but then _you_ pushed him off me, and once you got a look of the guy, _your_ face, it was funny as fuck, thinking about it now, and you panicked, knowing you weren’t gonna win any easy way, and kicked him straight in the balls, picked me up and _ran._ By the time we got back to our apartment, I got a bit of an asthma attack, and you helped me out of that one.” Steve tells him, the memory still clear in his head. He continues, not waiting for the response that would never come.

 

“Then, I almost got another one, looking at the your face, all angry this time. You yelled at me, and I couldn’t even be mad at you, I was never good at that either, and then I said I was sorry, because I really was trying to be good, trying not to pick fights anymore, but I’ve never been good at not fighting guys, and then you cracked some joke, you said “Well, he ain’t gonna be having kids by the way I practically kicked the life outta him, so I won’t have to worry about you fightin’ his non-existent kids. Otherwise I’d be scared that in a couple years I’d be pulling ya ass outta fights with kids that are just the same size as you,” and I laughed at you, real hard, couldn’t even be mad at you for saying I looked like I was 7 or some shit, and then I told you ‘If you don’t want the same fate as that asshole, then ya better stop talking, “ Steve says, shaking his head laughing at the memory, and at the bruises on his torso he sported for the next couple of weeks, and he looked over at Bucky, who still had the same look on his face.

 

He couldn’t even pretend to not be disappointed. But he wasn’t going to give up yet, and maybe if he didn’t help Bucky, it was still nice to talk about the memories as if Bucky was right there with him, laughing at the ridiculous shenanigans they got themselves into. So, he tells him about Sally Reid, a girl that Bucky went out with only one time, she slapped him when Bucky ditched her when Bucky caught sight of a lonely Steve at the bar, sipping on cheap beer and feeling sorry for himself.

 

Steve talked about how Bucky had rubbed his face after, and shrugged, unbothered by it, and ignored her as if it had never happened and he just got humiliated in front of the entire dance hall. It was funny too, because while most people were embarrassed to be seen with someone of the likes of Steve. He tells Bucky about how he didn't give a single fuck, how Bucky never cared about being humiliated over and over again.

 

But now that he thinks about it, reflecting back on the times they spent together, Steve realizes that Bucky might of never saw it as something to be ashamed, so maybe that’s why he didn’t care, why he ignored the stares of everyone around him. Steve wishes he could be that brave.

 

Steve even talked about his most embarrassing date, one of the few Bucky wasn’t even there for. Steve cringes at the memory, but still gives Bucky each and every detail, like he did as soon as he got back at the apartment after his date. Molly, Steve thinks was her name, was a nice girl, nice enough, but Steve was such a bad flirt that she even blushed from second hand embarrassment from Steve’s failed efforts to swoon her.

 

Steve had said to her, actually blurted out to her that she reminded him of his Ma, because she had blonde hair, and instantly regretted it because if there’s anything that _doesn’t_ get a girl going is being told she reminded a guy of his _Mother._ Bucky laughed real hard at the story at the time in their shabby apartment, even harder when Steve told him about how he tried to grab her hand, but she pulled away quickly, which led him to accidentally grab her purse and fall straight on his face.

 

He continues about how Bucky told him the same thing he always told Steve, about how no night should end on a bad one, grabbing the whiskey and getting drunk outta their minds. At the end of the night, they were dancing wildly, something they always found themselves doing, “We should try it sometime, maybe you still like it,” He laughs real hard when he tells Bucky about the fact that Bucky stumbled and threw up all over Steve’s shirt, and Steve, he just _laughed,_ threw off his shirt and punched Bucky on the shoulder, too drunk to be self conscious about his lanky chest.

 

And later, about the countless apologies Bucky had given him after they both showered. How Steve just laughed and told him that they were even now, the both of them embarrassing themselves well enough tonight, but also how he would definitely use it as blackmail.

 

After each and every story, Bucky’s face had never changed, still the unwavering look of vacancy, only blinking every once and awhile. The oatmeal had long gone cold, the glass of water still untouched. It was dark out by now, Steve growing tired and his eyes getting heavy.

 

He wanted to stay with Bucky, but he thinks that maybe the reason Bucky stayed in his position is because of _Steve,_ so he reluctantly slips out of Bucky’s bed.

 

“Goodnight Bucky, I hope this helped. I’ll see you in the morning.” Steve says, and gets no answer. If Bucky wasn’t struggling in the way he is now, Steve might of gone to sleep that night with a smile on his face.

 

-

 

The next morning, Bucky had acting like nothing had happened, only going Steve a small smile and telling him “Thanks.” Obviously not wanting to talk about what had happened yesterday. Steve could live with that.

 

-

 

Amina greets him with a warm smile, like she does every week.

 

“How are you doing?” She asked him, like she does every week, and Steve gives her the same answer, it’s automatic at this point, and she makes a face at him, and he corrects himself.

 

“Okay, maybe not so good. I’m just, I guess I don’t really know to do right now.”

 

“Do with what?”

 

“Everything? I feel lost.”

 

“I think it’s time we continue to work on your identity.” She inquiries, and Steve nods. He doesn’t know what to say, so she speaks.

 

“You need to learn how to live without the shield, without Captain America.”

 

“I know. I just don’t know how.”

 

“Well, that’s why you’re here, right?”

 

“I guess so.”

 

“So, what can you tell me about Steve Rogers? I think that laying it all out will help clear your mind, understand yourself better.”

 

“I like to stand for what’s right. But I guess I don’t have anything to stand up for, so I guess that’s where I feel lost. I think my identity was following my heart and all that, so maybe that’s why I feel lost?”

 

“Bingo. You need to do some self-discovery. What do you like to do in your free time?”  


“Sketch. But I don’t think that’s going to help me find myself. I think I always need something to work towards, something to do.”

 

“Is that why you’re trying to help Bucky?”

  
“Yes, and no. I want to help Bucky because he’s my friend, I don’t see him as someone who needs _saving,_ but I think it makes me feel useful.”

 

“Depending on someone else to help yourself isn’t going to help you. I’m not saying you should stop helping Bucky, but there you need to learn to support yourself, do things you enjoy.”

 

“I don’t know what I could do that would give me purpose.”

 

“Think about it. What is something you’re passionate about? Something that lights a fire in you, something that gives you ambition. And don’t say Bucky.”

 

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve been passionate about anything other than sketching and Bucky.”

 

“Then find other things. You have the world in your hands right now, and maybe things are a bit limited with you being a technical war criminal, but you can still do other things. If you want some time to think about it, or if you want to brainstorm now, it’s fine.”

 

“Can you give me some time?”  


“Of course. Just bring me a list for next week. I know you say that you don’t have to save Bucky, and I do think that is true, but I think that Bucky can’t be leaning on you a hundred percent all the time, holding his hand through life will stunt the further growth he can make. It’s a hard reality, but it will be the best for the both of you.”

 

“So what am I supposed to do then? Just watch him hurt and not _do anything?_ ” Steve asked, but there was anger and frustration in his voice.  
  
“That’s not what I’m saying. You should help him when he needs you to, but if you’re always worried about caretaking him, you won’t be able to help yourself. I think you should find something to take of, other than Bucky. Do you like animals?”  


“Yeah, I’ve always wanted one of ‘em, but back in Brooklyn we couldn’t really afford and then when I became Captain America or whatever, I didn’t have the time.”

 

“What kind of animals?”

 

“All of ‘em. I like dogs, a lot.”

 

“Dogs can be very therapeutic for people, also, they’re very cute. Think about it.”

 

“Do you think Bucky would be okay with it?”

 

“Most likely. Now, I haven’t met the guy yet, but I’m pretty sure he’d do anything to make you happy.”  


-

 

Bucky was on board with the whole dog adopting idea. So, the next day they headed off to the local shelter Steve had spotted a couple weeks ago. Bucky had slipped on his camouflage and they walked in together, hands in hand and silently keeping up with the whole married operation that they really didn’t have to uphold, but still did. Steve wasn’t complaining.

 

They looked at the dogs, all varying in shapes in sizes, all looking miserable; some barking at them, and some wagging their tails excitedly for their attention. They came across a husky, fluffy black and white fur and bright icy blue eyes, reminding Steve of Bucky. Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand and pulled him towards the cage that held the husky. Its tail was wagging excitedly and it seemed that it was almost smiling.

 

“She’s cute, or he,” Steve says, and Bucky nods, agreeing with him. Bucky holds out a hand and tries to touch the dog through the fence. One of the employees sees them up close and asks if they would like to see her, which they both nod at her with smiles on their faces.

 

She unlocks the fence door, and as soon as there was a crack in the fence door the husky came pushing through, rushing towards the pair demanding affection.

 

“Her name’s Maggie, she’s been here for a bit. We don’t get much company here, so she’s pretty happy to finally get some love. Any information you could want on her is right here,” She points at a piece of laminated paper hanging up by a clip lapsed onto the fence. “If you have any other questions, I’ll be right over there. Just let me know!” She tells them, her excitement coming through a smile, she seems to be passionate about this.

 

“We will, thank you,” Bucky tells her, and she nods at him and walks away. Steve crouches, petting Maggie behind her eyes, and she pushes closer towards him, licking his face, but Steve dodges it slightly but fails to stop her slobber. Bucky’s petting her back, moving his hand up and down softly.

 

“Hey, baby girl,” Bucky says softly, entranced by her fur and the soothing motions.

 

They stay there for a bit, petting Maggie, whose eccentric energy hasn’t faded yet. They had learned from the sign that she was house trained and vaccinated, about 4 years old. Steve doesn’t know how someone could abandon someone so perfect.

 

“She’s perfect,” Steve says, standing up.

 

“Yeah, she really is. I think she’s the one.” Bucky smiles at Maggie, then at Steve.

 

“I think so too ” Steve says, and motions towards the helper, who lights up. She walks over, a smile on her face.

 

“Find everything okay?”

 

“Yep. We think this is the one.”

 

“I am _so_ glad to hear that. You just have to fill out some forms and then she’s yours.” She informs them, pulling out a clipboard that she was holding behind her back.

 

“You were expecting this huh,” Steve asks as he grabs the clipboard, filling out the forms as quickly as possible.

 

“I had a feeling. You’ll need to take her to the vet, and acclimate her to your home. At first, she might be a bit nervous, but she’ll adjust in a couple days, a week at most. I’m Anna, by the way. If you have any more questions, either call your vet or call here.” she informs them, going more in-depth with the basics with Bucky as Steve fills out the forms.

 

Thirty minutes later they left the shelter, a pink leash attached to Maggie, whose wagging her tail excitedly. She’s a bit reluctant at first to enter their car, but Bucky lets her take the front seat, but Steve gives him a look, telling Bucky to join them in the front.

 

“It will be more comforting for her.”  


“Probably. Try not to crash the car.” Bucky sasses back, buckling up and having half of Maggie’s body on his lap. They go straight home, not wanting to rattle Maggie even more, the car ride was short, but Maggie seemed to be a bit nervous with a side of anticipation. As soon as Bucky opened the passenger door, she jumped out with Bucky pulling her away towards the front door. Steve handled the keys while Bucky steered a very enthusiastic Maggie, who was currently nosing at the door, and sprinted in as soon as the door opened slightly.

 

Bucky unclasped the leash, letting Maggie explore, but Maggie had other ideas, she stayed put, sitting down and waiting for approval.

 

“C’mon girl, look around!” Bucky encouraged her. She didn’t move. Steve pet her and started to walk away from the door, which Maggie then followed. Steve moved to sit on the couch, patting the cushion. Maggie jumped on and got comfortable.

 

“Well, someone’s attached,” Bucky commented.  


“I’m not mad about it.” Steve shrugged, petting Maggie's head and scratching the area behind her pointy ears.

 

“Me neither. We should probably of gotten dog food and bowls before.”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Is this you trying to get me to grab the supplies for you?”

 

“Maybe. I just don’t wanna leave Maggie all alone.”  


“I wouldn’t want to do that either, honestly. You have fun, I’ll handle the rest.”  


“You sure you’re okay to go?”

 

“Yes, I’ll be _fine.”_ Bucky rolled his eyes, grabbing the keys from the table. Bucky waves goodbye, leaving Steve alone with Maggie, who gives him a look, like she can see into his soul or some shit. Like she just _knows_ how worried Steve is about Bucky, what if he has another panic attack, what if they figure out it’s actually not Will Grant and is actually James Buchanan Barnes?

 

“Yeah, I know he’ll be fine. I just still worry,” He tells her, and she tilts her head, and Steve realizes that he’s talking to a dog who literally has no idea what he’s saying. It’s still nice to pretend though.

 

-

The next two weeks went somewhat smoothly, Steve hung out with Maggie, and Bucky knitted, and sometimes Bucky couldn’t do anything at all, just lie in his bed motionless. Those days, Steve would settle in Bucky’s bed, Maggie sleeping at the end, telling stories from back then. Bucky never asked him to, but Steve still did it anyway. He made his list of possible new passions, but could only come up with a couple, and he may or may not have talked it out with Maggie. She was his 2nd best sponge. She just didn’t have a PhD.

 

Maggie loved Bucky, coming up to him when he would start to get antsy, letting him pet her with his metal arm, not shying away from him unless he was screaming in the middle of the night. She would come back after the screaming was done though. Bucky would have a nightmare, and Steve would hold him at night, and then Bucky would make an apology breakfast.

 

Sometimes Steve’s own nightmares reached him, interrupting his dreams that were away from reality, turning in a loop of Bucky falling or Brooklyn in ruins from the Hydra bomb. It was the same shit over and over again, Bucky would fall, and Steve would try to grab his hand but he was just _frozen_ feet stuck in place, Bucky sometimes motionless or screaming at him filled with anger and _hatred_ for failing to grab his hand.

 

Those nightmares were the worst.

 

He would jolt awake, causing Maggie to pop her head up from the end of his bed, but she would drift back to sleep quickly, leaving Steve alone in his thoughts. Steve sometimes let himself be along, swimming in his thoughts for as long as he can, almost some sort of self-torture, like he deserves it.

 

He probably does.

 

But eventually, the overwhelming fear that Bucky really _was_ gone, that he had actually fallen and never survived. He would slip out of his own bed and silently into Bucky’s not touching him, just looking to make sure he’s really here. It doesn’t always feel like reality, his head swimming and his vision off and his ears feel like they have cotton stuck in them, his body feels numb and his mouth dry.

 

Bucky wouldn’t say anything, and Steve didn’t know if he was awake or not, but he didn’t care. He just kept on looking. One night, Bucky woke up, eyes looking at Steve in his bed, leaving Steve feeling instantly self-conscious and embarrassed.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked softly. Steve couldn’t say anything, the words caught in his throat, so he looked away. Bucky grabbed Steve’s arm before he could leave the warm bed, pulling his over Bucky’s torso.

 

“It’s okay. I’m here.” Bucky whispered. Steve couldn’t help but feel like it was a lie, because it wasn’t okay. Sure, Bucky was here, but each and every time they laid there in the dark room on those late nights, Steve knew he didn’t deserve it.

 

Doesn’t mean he still didn’t squeeze Bucky tighter and close his eyes, hoping that this was all some nightmare within another one, and it was really 1941 and they were in Brooklyn and not Idaho, where the world seemed simple and tranquil.  

 

But just thinking that just made him feel more ungrateful.

 

-

 

Steve had just gotten back from a run with Maggie, who had now learned to run along without a leash, when he sees an unfamiliar blue honda accord in their driveway. Panic coursed through his veins, but he pushed it down, entering their home.

 

Instead of being met with a Hydra agent, or maybe Tony for fucks sake, Sam was sitting on their couch with a cheeky grin. Steve lit up, rushed towards Sam who gave him a big hug. Bucky was in the background, looking uncomfortable. Maggie sniffed Sam and tried to jump on him.

 

“Good to see you man, how’ve you been?” Sam asks as they part.

 

“Pretty good! What are you doing here, I thought you would call?”

 

“Just thought I’d surprise you. Now, who is this? Got yourself a dog already?” Sam leans down a bit, petting Maggie on her head.

 

“Her name’s Maggie. She really likes cheese.” Steve tells Sam, who laughs at that.

 

“How was Wakanda?”

 

“It was _good,_ like really good if you catch my drift,” Sam smirks at him. Steve made a bit of a face.

 

“Good to know. Welcome to Idaho. When did you get here?”

 

“A bit after you left on your run, maybe a half hour ago. Bucky and I have been… chatting.”

 

“It’s called small talk Sam, look it up.” Bucky sasses him, laying back on the couch, knitting away. Sam laughs, again, that boy always filled with laughter waiting to come out, and sits on the couch, with Steve sitting in the middle of the two.

 

“Where’re you living at?”

 

“A couple blocks away. Shuri already moved me in, that girl has _taste,_ I gotta say.” Sam tells him, and Steve raises an eyebrow, their home wasn’t decorated, but Steve has a bit of an inkling that it was intentional.

 

“You guys like it here?”

 

“It’s okay. The neighbors are nice.”

 

“Yeah? What’s with the rings? Y'all hit up Vegas before you came through here?” Sam points at the rings, raising an eyebrow.

 

“Steve panicked and didn’t correct one of our neighbors when she called me his husband. It’s basically our cover story.” Bucky explains, monotone, but his head is tucked down towards his knitting to cover up a bit of a blush. No one comments on it, nor do they comment on the fact they both still wear the rings, even when home alone in their home.

 

“Interesting. Well, what’s your backstory?”

 

“Well, we’re both veterans who work from home, I’m an ‘artist’ and Bucky is an ‘accountant.’ That’s pretty much it.”

 

“Wow, I’m blown away, what an airtight cover story. I would have never known that you were really the war criminal Captain America and The Winter Soldier.”

 

“Technical war criminal.” Bucky and Steve both say in unison to correct Sam.

 

“I’m still mad about the fact that they tried to detain three veterans.”

 

STEVE:“You and me both.”

 

SAM:“You both keeping up with therapy?”

 

BUCK: “Yep.”

 

STEVE: “Yeah.”

 

SAM: “It’s going good?”

 

BUCKY: “Define good.”

 

SAM: “I think that’s an answer in itself. Are we gonna be strangers or friends?”  


STEVE: “Well, your car is already here.”

 

SAM: “Right. Well, I guess we could be war buddies or some shit. Ain’t far from the truth.”

 

-

 

They spend the remainder of the day catching up, Sam telling wild stories from his time in Wakanda and Bucky doing the same. Bucky was quiet at first, knitting away, but he soon warmed up and abandoned in that same knitting, eyes sparkling and laughs large. It was beautiful, the way his hands moved wildly and his smile grew over time, making Steve’s stomach feel all warm.

 

When daylight fell, (like bucky on dat train LMAOO) Sam refused to let the fun die down, declaring that they were all going out for drinks to celebrate Sam’s return. Sam said he passed a bar on the way to the airport, so he opted to drive there. Steve could tell he was practically dying to tell some dumb joke about the last time Bucky interacted with Sam’s very destroyed old car, but knew that it was probably better to not mention something that was so sensitive.

 

Sam put on some music in the car, some old R&B Steve didn’t recognize, but liked and bobbed his head to it lightly. The car ride was somewhat short, only a fifteen-minute drive and Bucky was silent for the most part, leaving most of the talking to Steve and Sam.

 

The bar was somewhat busy, maybe three-quarters full, leaving some breathing room for most people. It had a historic look to it, wasn’t one of those techno-hipster places. There were men playing darts and watching some football game, and women talking amongst their friends and whatnot with soft rock music playing in the background.

 

They all took a seat at the bar with Steve sandwiched in the middle of Bucky and Sam. Bucky seemed to fidget a bit, his eyes darting around wildly. He twiddled his thumbs nervously, bouncing his leg up and down. Steve’s eyes soften, and his placed a soft hand on Bucky’s shoulder, not missing the way he flinched.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Steve asked softly. Sam’s attention was brought over to them, his eyes soft as well. Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes, blue eyes frantic with worry. He didn’t say anything.

 

“Hey, you wanna get outta here? We don’t have to stay here.”  


“Yeah man, don’t worry about it. There’s always later.” Sam reassured. Bucky nodded his head, quickly and sharply. They made their way up, walking towards the exit. Bucky held himself close, coiling in himself.

 

“I’ll drop you guys off unless you need anything?” Sam asked once they were in his car. He made a point to turn off the music.

 

“We’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” Steve assured. He could tell that even if Sam was an expert in this sort of thing, he was sure that Bucky just wanted to be alone. Bucky still said nothing, his eyes closed but his breathing seemed to as the drive went on. They reached their home, Sam staying in the driver seat and waving goodbye to them, telling Steve to call him if he needs anything.

 

As soon as the front door of their home closed, Bucky made a b line to his room, Steve following. Bucky stripped out of his jeans and slipping into his bed, curling in on himself.

 

“You okay?”  


“I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered, and Steve shook his head, pulling off his own jeans and joining Bucky.

 

“Why are you sorry?”  


“We… we were supposed to have a good night. And, I just, I ruined it.”

 

“What? You didn’t ruin anything.” Steve assured him, facing Bucky’s back, wanting to reach towards him. Bucky didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes, the repetitive sound of a long inhale, a hold of a breath and a long exhale looping in the room. Square breathing, Steve thinks. Amina taught Steve something like that a couple sessions ago.

 

“1972,” Bucky whispered softly. “I had a mission. The bar, it looked like it.” Steve doesn’t know what to say and knows there’s more to the story, so his mouth remains closed.

 

“No witnesses,”  Bucky tells him, the words causing a sharp pain in Steve’s chest. But all he does is grab Bucky, pulling him onto his chest, rubbing his hand up and down his back.

 

“Hey. It’s okay.”  


“It’s not.”

 

“Bucky, that wasn’t you.”

 

“It doesn’t _matter._ _It still happened.”_ Bucky whispered, although his voice was firm. For a moment, Steve was torn. He didn't know what to say, he couldn't anything else to say, because in some messed up way; Bucky was almost right. He did do all of those things, but he couldn't be held at fault for it. He wanted to say it over and over again, that it was Bucky doing those things, but he had a feeling his words would be wasted. There was nothing else he could say. All he wanted to do, at this moment, was to hold Bucky tighter, kiss his tears away and make everything better.

 

“I don't know what to do. I just want out of this brain. I thought that maybe if I did all this, I would be happy again. But it's just- now that I have it. I want fucking nothing to do with it." Bucky spit out, his voice laced with venom, but his words came out choked like he was poisoned by his own thoughts. Maybe he was.

 

Steve didn't have anything else to say, so all he did was squeeze Bucky tighter, threading a hand in his short brown hair while Bucky cried, tears and snot leaking onto Steve's shirt.

 

It was all he could do, and he just hoped that it was enough.

 

-

 

Steve wakes up from a fitful rest around six in the morning, an alarm blaring and jolting him awake. The sheets feel cold, Bucky isn't there beside him. He trudges out of bed, and slips on his work out clothes; a long sleeve shirt and basketball shorts; for it's getting a bit warmer out and he doesn't have to wear long pants anymore. Maggie lays on the floor, gazing up at him with a mouth wide open, expecting a walk.

 

Steve clicks him tongue as he leaves his room, signalling for Maggie to follow. He grabs the pink leash that hangs on the black coat rack by their door and attaches it to Maggie's matching collar. She wags her tail excitedly, tongue falling out of her mouth, eyes smiling.

 

He doesn't let her run without a leash until they get to the trail that's about a mile away, so they both walk briskly in the dark morning light; where the sun is out, but the sky still looks grey. It's not too long until he sees a familiar blonde head, waving at him and walking over towards him.

 

Steve puts on a small smile, and stops when she reaches him.

 

"Morning Ryan!" Dianne gives a smile, her hands braced on her hips. Her voice is loud, and it hurts his ears a bit.

 

"Good Morning, how are you?"

 

"Tired. You know me." Dianne waves him off, even though Steve has only met her once and he really doesn't know her. He smiles anyway. He doesn't really have anything to say, but she doesn't stop talking.

 

"Well, Noah and I were wondering if you and Will would like to come over tonight for dinner? We would both love to get to know the both of you better." Dianne propositions, giving him kind eyes, looking so eager. Steve wants to say no, he knows that Bucky might hate the social gathering, and maybe Steve himself might hate it too. He also wants to minimize the possibility of being recognized, because the beard isn't a damn miracle worker.

 

"Sure, we'd love to." Steve tells her, cursing himself and his inability to put down the Captain America 'be courteous to all civilians,' morale he has stuck in his head.

 

"Is seven okay?"

 

"Sure." He says again, not knowing what else he's supposed to say. There were never dinner parties back in Brooklyn, and the only one's he's been to were Tony's; where Tony would call him telling him to 'get his patriotic ass over here because we're having a party, and you're not allowed to say no,'. He feels a pang of sadness in his chest, thinking about Tony and the friendship they lost.

 

"Okay, well. I'll see you then." Dianne fidgets for a second, looking a bit awkward but then she waves and starts to walk away, jogging past him in the other direction.

 

-

  


“So I may or may not of fucked up,”

 

“Last time you said that, we got ‘married’. What is it this time, you accidentally adopted a baby?”

 

“No! We have dinner tonight, with Dianne and Noah.”

 

“Oh, well. That’s not that bad,”

 

“It isn’t?”  


“I mean, not really. Just don’t start screaming about fighting for the greater good and they won’t recognize you.”

 

“Do you think the kids will be there?”

 

“Where else would they be?”

 

“I don’t know? Like, the. Uh,” Steve thinks for a second, and Bucky bursts out laughing.

 

“Stop laughing at me! I’m kinda freaking out.”  


“It’s funny! You need to calm down, like it’s all gonna be okay.” Bucky reassured.

 

“You’re right. You’re right! I’m being irrational. Kinda. Not really. Actually, you’re being irrational! This is a horrible idea.” Steve sat down, petting Maggie. Bucky narrowed his eyes, and stopped his knitting.

 

“I’m not being irrational, I know that this could all go horribly. But, I also know that if I think about it over and over again then I’ll just freak myself out. And _you’re_ gonna freak out Dianne and her poor kids if you show up with those bug eyes tonight.” Bucky continued his knitting again, and Steve buried his face in Maggie’s fur.

 

“Maggie, help me.”

 

“I feel like I shouldn’t let you leave the house anymore, you always get into trouble.”

 

“I resent that,”  


“Oh really? I can think of a couple of fellas in Brooklyn who can support my claim.”  


“You’re extra sassy today, and I don’t appreciate it.” Which, is a total lie. Steve definitely loves when Bucky is like this, all carefree and lively. The days where he’s like this are usually rare, but they recently have been happening more and more. Steve gets up and walks over towards the bathroom to shower.

 

“I’m always this sassy!” Bucky calls out from the living room, and Steve waves him off, not looking back, and shuts the door.

 

-

  


Steve knocked on the black wooden door of Dianne and Noah’s single-family home, the other hand holding Bucky’s hand. Bucky bought a bottle of wine just for the occasion. Dianne opened the door with a warm smile.

 

“Hi! So glad you’re here. C’mon in.” She makes way for them to come inside, and Steve steps in first, leading Bucky with him.

 

“We brought red wine.” Bucky holds up the bottle. They picked a random one from the store, hoping for the best.

 

“Perfect,” Dianne says as Bucky passes the bottle to her.

 

“Hey guys, how’re you both doing?” Noah calls from the kitchen, he’s wearing an apron, transferring chicken to a serving plate. The dark wooden table is all set, minus the chicken, but there’re only four plates.

 

“We’re doing good, thanks.”

 

“The kids are having sleepovers today, so it’s just us,” Dianne informs as she ushers them over to the table, sitting down.

 

“Oh, okay,” Steve says, because how is he supposed to respond to that? Dianne opens the bottle and pours them all a glass,

 

“Let’s dig in.”

 

A couple glasses of wine later, Dianne whipped out her own after the bottle had run out, and their plates are empty but they’re all still sitting at the dinner table, engaging in small talk. The dinner had been going okay so far, most of the conversation pleasant but Steve still had nerves in his stomach. Dianne was definitely drunk, had even asked if Steve and Bucky both knew her gay cousin, who didn’t even live in DC or Idaho, but Illinois.

 

“So, who wears the pants?” Dianne asked, way too casually to be asking someone who they barely knew who in the relationship takes it up the ass.

 

“Uh, what?” Steve asks back, because maybe if he plays dumb he won’t have to answer. Steve looked over at Bucky, who was blushing and looking with wide eyes down at his plate.

 

“Uh, anyway! What kind of music do you guys listen to?” Noah changes the conversation, and Dianne looks completely unashamed.

 

“I meant, you know.. Who, you know.” Dianne raises her eyebrows, trying to communicate some message.

 

“Yeah, we know what you meant,” Bucky says harshly.

 

“I like the Beatles,” Steve answers instead, trying to defuse the situation. He names the most recent musical artist he knows of, trying to seem inconspicuous. Natasha had shown them to him one time, and he was instantly hooked.

 

“Oh, I love the Beatles! Favorite Album?”

 

“Uh, Abbey Road.”

 

“That’s a good one. But I can’t listen to Here Comes the Sun anymore, Kayla has been obsessed with The Parent Trap and has been watching it over and over again, and If I didn’t love that girl to death, I swear.” Noah laughs, and Steve doesn’t know the reference, but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“You like R&B? You know, Mos Def, Fugees, or like hip hop type shit?”

 

“Not any by name. My friend likes R&B, but I stick to oldies.” Steve tells him, which saying he sticks to oldies isn’t exactly a lie, he’s just not saying how old.

 

“What about you Will?”

 

“Uh, I like oldies too. Music is a pretty big thing in the Grant household.”

 

“Is that so?”

 

“Oh yeah, even when we were kids n stuff. My Ma always had a tune on during the day.”

 

“You guys knew each other when you were little? That’s cute.” Dianne comments, breaking her silence.

 

“Oh yeah. He’s been a pain in my neck for way too long.”

 

“I think it’s the other way around.”

 

“How long have you been together?” Noah asks.

 

“Feels like 70 years, but we’ve been together for 10 years, coming up on 11. Tied the knot as soon it was legal. You?” Bucky informs them, giving Steve a warm look and squeezing his hand. It hurts a bit when Steve remembers that none of this is real. That in reality, Bucky isn’t his, it really was seventy years, and Steve will never have the normal life and story he craves so bad. He should be used to it by now, but he’s not.

 

“Married for eleven, dated for three beforehand,” Dianne answered, a small smile on her face as she looks over at Noah with warm eyes, and mirrors her expression, grabbing her hand.  

 

"You guys up for a movie?" Noah propositions, getting up and starting to clean up the table. Steve and Bucky both get up, starting to grab their plates to help. Dianne shushes them, swatting them away. Steve checks his phone, looking at the clock and seeing that it's nearly ten.

 

"Maybe just a tv show? I'm getting pretty tired."

 

"You're like an old man." Noah teases him, and Steve fakes a laugh, trying to cover up the edge in his voice, but also the irony of it is kinda funny. Little do they know that Steve is actually a century old.

 

"A TV show is perfectly fine. You guys watch Parks and Rec?"

 

"Can't say I've seen it."

 

"Oh, you gotta watch it so you can understand our references."

 

"Let's do it."

 

"Go sit, we got this," Dianne tells them, even though she looks tired and drunk and her movement is a bit weird.

 

"C'mon, we insist." Bucky tries again. Dianne rolls her eyes, bringing her glass up to her lips and chugging the rest of it. She holds out the glass to Bucky with a smile on her face. "Fine, you can take this and only this."

 

Bucky laughs and takes the glass, bringing it over to the kitchen. Steve moves to grab the plates as quickly as he can before Dianne can yell at them, slightly running towards the kitchen with stacked plates in his hand.

 

"Ryan!" Dianne calls after him, trying to hit him. Steve brings the plates to the sink, where Noah is currently packing away the leftovers.

 

"Dianne has a weird thing about people helping clean up. And so do I, so scram to the couch and put on Parks and Rec, it's on Hulu." Noah swats at Steve, a playful smile on his lips. Steve walks over to join Bucky on the couch, who's lounging in the right corner of it.

 

Steve sits down, coming in close towards Bucky, whispering in his ear "this is what couples do right?"

 

"You are so bad at being undercover," Bucky whispers back, nodding his head, and bringing an arm around Steve to pull him in. Steve grabs the stray remote that lay on the green couch to queue up the show. He struggles for a bit, trying to figure out the technology until Bucky grabs the remote from him to do it himself, Steve taking too long.

 

"What would I do without you?" Steve teases him, looking up at Bucky. Bucky looks back at him, his eyes full of something serious and unknown for a second, but it is gone almost instantly.

 

"Probably die, or something." Bucky rubs his arm up and down, pulling him in closer.

 

The rest of the night went smoothly. They only stayed for about another hour, and Dianne had fallen asleep about 10 minutes in the second episode of Parks and Rec, and that's when they knew to call it a night. They drove home with smiles on their faces. Things seemed to be looking up, and for the first time in 70 years, Steve felt like he was home. How could he not, with Bucky beside him?

 

-

 

Amina greeted him with the same warm smile as she did every week, the one where he can almost feel the warmth through the screen.

 

"How are you doing Steve?" Amina asks. They're trying out this new thing where Steve has to wait thirty seconds before answering this specific question, so he can be most insightful and genuine in his answer.

 

"Good. I'm actually doing really good." Steve tells her, smiling. An even bigger smile creeps on her face, she even claps her hands together. "That's amazing Steve! I'm so happy for you. What's different this week? How have your hobbies been going? And Maggie?"

 

"I don't know what changed. I've just been sketching more, and Maggie really helps. I feel like I have a purpose, you know? So, the hobbies really helped."

 

"What's your purpose?"

 

"When I'm with the people I love, like Maggie and Sam and Bucky, everything just feels right. When I'm kindling those relationships and my hobbies, I feel like I'm doing something important. Even if it's small." Steve pauses, swallowing a lump in his throat that seemed to make its way into Steve's body. "I don't think I have to save the world anymore. To feel like that. I feel like I'm saving myself. It feels-- It feels really good." Steve feels a tear fall down his face, but he welcomes it.

 

"Steve. That's amazing. I'm so proud of you. Are you proud of you?"

 

"Yeah. I think I am."

 

"Can you say it?"

 

"I'm proud of myself."

 

"I love that. And I want you to keep on working on holding that feeling. Now, I want to teach you some breathing and grounding exercises." Amina explains. She explains the grounding exercises, something called DBT. She tells him to write the exercises all down, the acronyms and everything. He writes them all down, taking it all in. She talks about square breathing, about TIPPS, ACCEPTS, RN, all of it. It's a lot to remember, so Steve's glad he wrote it all down.

 

"You mentioned loving Sam and Bucky, is that a romantic love, or just platonic? I'm not going to judge you if it is. If it's even the both of them." Amina asked him, seeming tentative and unsure. For a moment, Steve's heart nearly damn stopped. He'd never been asked that sort of thing, never confronted like that. He thinks to lie, to deny it all and say that he's just friends with Bucky. But, there's something in his chest, something that feels a bit like hope, a hope that he can trust Amina and maybe work through this part of him.

 

"Uh. With Sam, I love him like a brother." Steve starts, giving himself a way out in the small possibility that maybe Amina wouldn't press, but knowing her, that's exactly what she would do. That's would a good therapist does anyway.

 

"And Bucky?" Amina questions, the ever perceptive one.

 

"It's complicated. I... I, well. I don't know. I was in love with him. Before, everything that happened. But I don't think I stopped, but it's. It's just very complicated."

 

"How so?"

 

"I-- Bucky's a different person now and even if I didn't stop loving him, I just think it was different for awhile. I've only been in love once, but I think. I think each love you have for someone is different. I guess I’ve just loved Bucky twice, in their own separate ways."

 

"Are you and Bucky...?"

 

"No, god. I don't think he goes that way. I've never told-- no one knows. No one." Steve tells her. She gives him a sympathetic smile, but there's a sense of sadness in it.

 

"Are you ashamed of it?"

 

"I was. For awhile, for so long, actually. I hated myself for it. I think now I'm just scared and thinking that if I don't talk about it, it will go away." Steve explains, his throat feeling tight. He shrinks a little bit at the thoughts, going back to that place in his head.

 

"Do you see being gay as a bad thing?" Amina asks him. Steve thinks about it for a second, taking a deep breath.

 

"Not with anyone else. I don't care what other people do, I guess. I just always feel like there's something wrong with me. And I'm scared of being judged. So fucking scared of losing everyone over this dumb _thing."_

 

"You do know there isn't anything wrong with you. It's okay to be gay now."

 

"Rationally, I know it's okay."

 

"Have you ever said it out loud? Like the words."

 

"No."

 

"Can you do that for me?"

 

"I'm... gay."Steve states, the words choking up in his throat a bit, coming out a bit breathless.

 

"Was that so hard?" Amina questions, her voice light-hearted.

 

"Yes, actually. Took me 80 years." Steve jokes, breaking the tension. Amina laughs, but it's not mean-spirited.

 

The rest of the session was hard. Amina asks Steve to talk about everything regarding Bucky, how long he's loved him, and the feelings he felt back then. He'd never been so open and raw about it, tears threatened to spill a couple of times, and for the most part he held them down. He talked about how he doesn't know if he wants to come out, and that he doesn't see why he needs to. Amina explains how he can do whatever he wants, but she thinks that working through this will help him be happier.

 

She gives him an assignment, she wants him to read a book, called Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, and watch some LGBT movies, that's the acronym for it nowadays, to help acclimate him and expose him to what life is like. She gives him a couple movies, and tells him to focus his energy on acceptance this week.

 

"It's going to be hard. But, I know you can do it."

 

"I know I can. I just don't know if I want to."

 

-

 

Steve goes to a bookstore the next day, buying the book that Amina recommended. He avoided asking an employee for help, fearing judgement from them. He drives home, feeling antsy and nervous. He only prays that Bucky doesn't ask what the book is about.

 

Bucky greets him as Steve walks in the door, holding a cup of coffee with a long sleeve shirt on and grey sweatpants on. It's not helping. Bucky hands him the mug, and ushers him over to the table.

 

"I made french toast. And bacon. Maggie tried to steal some of it. Okay, I lied. I gave her some of it." Bucky said as he sat down, giving Maggie a nice pet as she sat by the table, most likely hoping for some food.

 

"Well excuse me if I want to spoil my baby."

 

"She's not a baby, nor is she your baby. She's mine."

 

"You wound me. She's ours." Bucky explains, and it's really getting pathetic at how Steve's heart leaps at that. He curses himself inwardly, and takes a big bite of the toast to avoid saying something stupid.

 

“What’s the plan today?” Steve opts for saying instead of “have my babies” or something like that.

 

“Uh, there isn't one? I don’t know. I have therapy. But otherwise, I’m just gonna be hanging here.”

 

“We could go on a walk? Get some fresh air.” Steve propositioned, smiling a bit at how Maggie’s head perks up at the word “walk.” He reaches down to give her some of his bacon, and pets her on the head.  


“You sound like my therapist. But sure. I’m okay with that.” Bucky agrees.

 

-

 

When Bucky goes in his room to start his therapy session, Steve decides to start reading his new book to pass the time. He hasn’t had the time to read since they got back, or really since he became Captain America, so he’s excited to start getting back into it.

 

He finds himself being captivated by the words and relating to Ari as the book goes on. Reading it feels like looking back on a mirror, and it makes him feel less alone. He feels like Dante more, and maybe he’s just projecting, but he kind of sees Bucky in Ari.

 

He’s a couple chapters in when her hears a knock on the door. He doesn’t really want to answer it, he’s really into his book right now, but he gets up anyway. Sam greets him with a smile.

 

“Hey. What’s up?” Steve asks. Sam walks in and Steve closes the door behind him, locking it back up. Sam settles on the couch, looking at the book Steve was currently reading. A panic runs through him, in a fear of being caught that he never seems to be able to shake.

 

“Can’t a guy just want to see his best friend?” Sam responds, holding up the book.

 

“Whatchu reading?”

 

“A book. My therapist told me to read it.”  


“ _Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe.”_ Sam reads out loud, then places on the couch-side table. “Is it good?”  


“So far. I really like it.”

 

“Why’d you’re therapist tell you to read it? Doesn’t seem like a self help book.”

 

“Uh. She wanted me to like, uh. Acclimate me.”  


“To what?”  


“God, you sound like my therapist.”  


“Well, I am a therapist.”

 

“How’s the VA?” Steve tries to change the topic, hoping that Sam will just drop the whole thing.

 

“No, you’re not getting away from this. Acclimate you to what?” Sam pushed him, and Steve sat down next to him, taking a deep sigh.

 

“To… gay people.”

 

“You accidentally say some homophobic shit or something?”  


“ _No.”_ Steve answers, exasperated. He takes another deep breath. “Because, I’m not used to them or whatever. She thinks it would help me with like, acceptance.” Steve tells him. Sam’s body gets a bit tense, and he fixes his slouched position. “ _Not_ because I hate gay people, or something. Because, I hated that part of _me.”_ Steve stares at his hands, refusing to look at Sam. There’s a lapse of silence. His heart is pounding, feels like it might beat out of his chest. Saying it to Amina is one thing, but saying it one of his closest friends is another.

 

“Oh. Okay. You’re gay? I didn’t expect that.”  


“Yeah.”

 

“I’m proud of you for telling me. I’m not going to judge you.” Sam tells you, his voice soft. He puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, rubbing it a bit.

 

“Thanks, I guess.” Steve shrugs.

 

“Does Bucky know?”

 

“No. He doesn’t. And I don’t want him to. Not yet, at least.”  


“Thanks for telling me.”  


“Well, you kinda forced me into it, but yeah.”  


“Sorry. I kinda got into therapist mode.”

 

“It’s okay. You probably should've known.”

 

“Still. When did you know?”

 

“You’re going into therapist mode again.”

 

“Sorry. Can’t turn it off can I?”

 

“It’s all good. It’s helpful, sometimes.”

 

“Have you… with other guys?” Sam asks, and Steve feels a bit weird about it. He’s never talked about sex before with _anyone,_ not even with Bucky. Sure, Bucky was a talker, because not kissing and telling didn’t include his best friend.

 

“Uh, yeah. Back in the day.”

 

“Not in the 21st century though.”

 

“No, I mean. Bucky’s here now, so. I was kinda, upset. Before we found him, because men can _marry_ now. And he wasn’t here. Sometimes I think we could of had a chance, but. That’s just wishful thinking.”  


“I kinda had a feeling, that you were, like in love with Bucky or something.”  


“Am I really that obvious?”  


“I mean, maybe to me. I just, had a feeling. I guess I saw myself in you, but I didn’t want to assume.”

 

“It just feels so hopeless. I can’t see myself with anyone else, he’s _it_ for me. And, I’m just not the one. And I try to tell myself that it’s okay and it’s not the end of the world, but. You know.”  


“How do you know he doesn’t feel the same?”

 

“I just _do._ Bucky would of told me, and he doesn’t go that way. He was a real ladies man, back in the day.”

 

“Why don’t you just tell him?”  


“Because, it would ruin _everything._ He’s comfortable around me now. It would change things.”  


“I think it would change things, but not in the way you’re thinking. You should at least tell him you’re gay.”

 

“You can’t seriously think he feels the same way.”  


“I don’t think or know anything, but I just have a feeling. Steve, you were given a gift. Bucky was gone, and he’s here _now._ You remember Riley?” Sam asks. Steve nods.

 

“We were in love. Like, really in love. And then..” Sam looks away, his eyes become a bit glassy. “He died. And, if he was here right now, I wouldn’t waste anymore time wondering about the ‘what ifs.’ It’s just not worth it. Steve, you’ve tackled so much shit, you defeated Aliens, Robots, you took down a shady-ass Nazi Organization, so you can tell your best friend how you really feel. Don’t live in regret. I did, for awhile, thinking Riley’s death was my fault. It wasn’t, and I can say that now; but I don’t think I ever really moved on. But, I don’t let myself live a life of regret because of it.”

 

“I..”

 

“Just think about it. Okay?”

 

“Okay, I’ll think about it. Thanks Sam.” Steve tells Sam, bringing him in for a hug, and Sam squeezes him tight. Maggie tried to jump in the couch to join, so they pulled away.

 

“Look who wants to join the party!” Sam says, and moves over and pats the empty space between them so Maggie can jump up. Sam scratches behind her ear, cooing at her and Steve pets her back, trying to join in on the Maggie-Love Party.  


 

-

 

Bucky leaves his room a couple hours later, and Steve and Sam are watching _Moonlight_ and petting Maggie. Steve’s pretty sure Bucky’s therapy ended hours ago, but after particularly hard ones, Bucky tends to spend some time on himself to recover.

 

“Hey, how was therapy?”  


“It was fine. You know how it is. Also, totally unrelated but, Sam, I just want to say you’re an evil man for what you do to your clients.”

 

“So, I’m guess it went bad?” Sam laughs, which earns him a scowl from Bucky, but it disappears quickly and doesn’t hold much spite.  


“No, it went good. Belakane destroyed me.” Bucky goes over to sit down, but sees that there’s no room left with Maggie sitting on the couch, so he sits on the floor across from the couch.

 

“That’s good?”  


“I mean, I guess. What’re ya watching?”

 

“ _Moonlight._ You wanna join us?”

 

“No, I’m good. Walk after?”

 

“I mean, y’all can go now, suns almost coming down.” Sam offers, giving Steve eyes that could only communicate ‘ _tell your boy you fucking idiot.’_ Bucky looks surprised by Sams offer.

 

“Really?”  


“Sure. I’ll see you guys later?”

 

“You’re not coming?”  


“Nah. Walks aren’t my style.” Sam says, which, totally isn’t true, and they both know that. Steve doesn’t say anything, just says goodbye to Sam, and turns to Bucky as soon as the door is closed.

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yeah. I’ll grab Maggie’s leash.” Bucky goes the coat rack, grabbing Maggie’s pink leash and clicking his tongue to alert Maggie. She happily perks up and jumps off the couch to get her walk. Bucky hands the leash the Steve so he can grab his camouflage technology and a coat and makes his way into the bathroom and walks out almost instantly. Steve shrugs on a coat while Bucky’s in the bathroom, dropping the leash and picking it back up.

 

“You’ve gotten pretty good at getting it on, huh?” Steve teases, and Bucky nods his head, making grabby hands at the leash.

 

“I wanna walk her.” Bucky all but pouts. Steve hands it over, and walks out the door, holding out a hand to Bucky. Gotta keep up that married couple image, right? It’s totally not just an excuse to hold Bucky’s hand. Okay, it totally is, but Bucky doesn’t have to know that. Bucky smiles and takes it, and they make their way to the trail that Steve loves to take.

 

They walk silently there, smiling at the neighbours that they pass on their walk. Bucky hand feels warm and comfortable in his hand, like it was made for him.

 

Like two puzzle pieces.

 

-

 

They come across a bench near the lake that surrounds the trail, and decide to sit down to take in the scenery with Maggie sitting on the dirt next to them.

 

“It’s pretty out here.” Bucky comments, filling the silence like he always used to. Back then, Bucky hated the lack of noise, lack of conversation, so he would always have the radio on, or be singing, or just trying to start a conversation. Now, Steve doesn’t know if he has the same hatred of silence, but from what he’s noticed, in some ways silence had became his friend, and sometimes his enemy.

 

“It's really something. Never thought that I would really be the type to like Idaho, but.”

 

“You like it here?” Bucky laughs, as if he can’t believe it and in a way Steve can’t either.

 

“I mean, it’s not Brooklyn, and sure I wish I could be in a city or something, but it has its perks.” Steve shrugs, looking over at Bucky, who has a look of pure admiration, his eyes twinkling. Steve hasn't seen that kind of light in Bucky's eyes in forever, since before the war.

 

“Yeah, and with neighbours asking who takes it up the ass in the relationship.” Bucky rolls his eyes, and Steve flushes, laughing along with him.

 

“God that was so bad. I mean, she’s nice, but. Jesus.” Steve exhales, thinking back to that comment. He thinks for a minute, thinking about Sam’s words of advice from earlier today. It felt nice, in the end to tell him, felt like a weight off his shoulder. He feels closer to Sam now, and it doesn’t seem so scary anymore. He’s not Captain America anymore, he doesn’t have to worry about some dumb image he has to upkeep.

 

“Bucky. I...” Steve starts not knowing what to say, but he just wants to get the words out.

 

“Yeah?” Bucky turns to him, the eye contact having such a force that Steve’s stomach is halfway to hell with the way it sunk. Steve closes his eye for a moment, trying to find the strength to just say it. So, he does.

 

“I’m gay.” Steve opens his eyes, to find Bucky have a surprised face with raised eyebrows and widened eyes. But it’s gone as soon as it comes, and Bucky’s face goes back the neutrality that Steve is so used it.

 

“Oh. Okay.” Bucky shrugs. It’s not the reaction Steve was exactly expecting, but it’s probably one of the best outcomes. He doesn’t know whether to be hurt or happy that Bucky is acting like it’s no big deal, acting like it doesn’t really matter. It’s probably a little bit of both.

 

“Just wanted to let you know, I guess.” Steve explains, nearly biting his tongue to keep from rambling.

 

“Okay.” Bucky repeats, though his eyes hold something different, something that doesn’t match the rest. Steve decides not to pry on it, for he’s already feeling like he’s skating on thin ice.

 

“I’ve been working on it in therapy. I think that, you should know.” Steve rambles in an attempt the make things less awkward, talking with his hands to give them something to do.

 

“Okay.” Bucky responds, again. It's not giving Steve much to work with, increasing Steve's already prominent anxiety. He doesn't know if Bucky's disgusted or doesn't care. Or even worse, Bucky's pretending that it doesn't exist so it will go away.

 

“You keep on saying okay a lot.” Steve points out, unwilling to let anything go unsaid, his brain isn't being smart today.

 

“Well, I don’t know what else to say. I’m proud of you for telling me.” Bucky pats him on the shoulder, letting it linger for a second.

 

“It won’t make things weird, right?” Steve

 

“Are you kidding me? Of course not. You’re my best guy. Nothing gonna change that.”

 

“Okay. Good.”

 

“Besides, I’ve been setting you up with the wrong people this whole time! All those double dates, and it was with the wrong person!”

 

“Well, it wasn’t exactly something you could talk about back then. And don’t try to set me up on dates. You sound like Natasha.”

 

“Don’t I know it. And we’re married. You think I’m the type of guy to try to set up my own husband?” Bucky holds up his left hand, point to the ring on his finger. Steve rolls his eyes, aiming for nonchalance, even though Bucky just pointed out their dumb fake marriage, as if it was real. And they don’t even have a crowd. But, Steve knows it’s just a dumb joke to try to relieve some of the tension that snaked their way into the conversation, and it’s probably the only thing keeping from spontaneously combusting on the spot.

 

“Fake married. And fugitives. And Technical war criminals. The list goes on.” Steve lists, counting on each finger while trying to dodge the not-so-obvious reasoning on why Steve never went with anyone, at least permanently.

 

“Well, I’m not mad about not having anyone. Our options are kinda gone.” Bucky confesses, his voice holding more emotion than what Steve was expecting.

 

“Ain’t that the truth.”

 

-

 

They returned home about an hour later, hand and hand, keeping up the image. There was a small part of Steve that worried that Bucky wouldn’t be comfortable with touch now that he knows that Steve is gay. That Steve could say goodbye to holding hands and each other, to lose the closest thing he has to a relationship with Bucky. Luckily, Bucky didn’t seem bothered, and nothing did actually change. While they were eating, Steve caught Bucky looking at him weirdly though, the same look from all those decades ago that he still isn’t able to decode, though this time, he can make out one feeling: disbelief. That could mean a damn number of things. So, Steve goes to bed early, grabbing his book and retreating to his room. Maggie naturally follows him in the bed, making her place on his bed. He’s settled in after brushing his teeth and putting on his PJs when Maggie gives him a look, a slight tilt of her head.

 

“I know. I’m just scared.” Steve confesses to Maggie, who definitely doesn’t speak english and was in no way trying to communicate with him, but it feels weird to text Amina. He could call Sam, but he’s not looking to be pushed right now, he just wants to talk.

 

It kinda feels like he’s in the confessional back in Brooklyn, seventeen years old and confessing about having thoughts of other men. He was given prayers to do to make it all go away, but he only walked away with more hatred and the knowledge that not even God could stop him from loving Bucky.

 

Nowadays, he doesn’t think he was ever supposed to stop.

 

He goes back to his book, drinking in the words of Ari and feeling raw and feeling it deep inside his heart. A couple hours later, he’s almost finished with the book, although he has maybe five or six chapters left. It’s late at night, but almost on cue, he hears the shout of Bucky through the walls. It isn’t a shriek, it’s not at the top of his lungs, but it’s there.

 

Maggie and Steve both shoot up, making their way into Bucky’s room, he’s thrashing and sweating, mumbling Steve’s name. Steve puts a hand on his shoulder, a soft touch as to not startle him. Bucky’s eyes shoot open, tears staining his cheeks. He grips Steve’s arm tightly with his flesh arm, squeezing.

 

“Steve?” He blinks coming back to his senses, loosening his grip. Steve nods, his heart hurting.

 

“Yeah. I’m here.” Steve tells him, rubbing his arm. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, more tears falling. Steve climbs over Bucky and settles in next to him.

 

“Hey. I’m here. You’re okay.” Steve whispers, letting Bucky come towards him and initiate contact if he wants. Bucky turns his back towards him, he does that when he wants to be spooned. So, Steve scoots forward and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and pulls him close, giving him a tight squeeze.

 

“I’m here.” He says one last time. There’s silence between the two of them for awhile, and Steve is half-way asleep despite his nerves, seeing Bucky like this is always unsettling for him, when Bucky speaks in a hushed voice, as if he’s afraid of his own words.

 

“In my dream, you were gone. You were… sick. So sick, and you kept on coughing and coughing over and over again until you were nothing and I was holding ya ashes.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault, I just think the worst part of it all was that I was just thinking about everything I shoulda done, shoulda cherished you more ‘n shit. But I didn’t, I didn’t in that dream and I didn’t back then. Not in the way you deserved.”

 

“Bucky, you were so kind to me.”

 

“But I shoulda done _more_.” Bucky tells him, his voice breaking a little bit. Steve doesn’t know what it even means. Bucky was everything to him, and did everything for him. He still is now, and maybe Bucky doesn’t know it, but Steve hopes he does. Steve knows better than to tell him that.

 

“It’s okay Bucky, it’s okay. You did everything you could for me, and I’m forever grateful.”

 

“Yeah. I guess.” Bucky says, and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He knows that by now, he should have the Comforting Bucky Barnes technique down to a damn science, but he doesn’t. He used to be good at this, comforting Bucky before the war when their biggest problem was whether or not they could eat. Now that he’s a century he doesn’t belong in, there was a part of him that somewhat disconnected from people. There always seemed to be a gap in his friendships, one that he sometimes didn’t have a desire to close. Sometimes it felt better that way.

 

So with Bucky he just listens, doesn’t say more than he should in fear of saying the wrong thing, damaging their relationship.There’s another lapse of silence, the one sounds heard are the rustling of the leaves outside and the sounds of their breath.

 

“I’m gonna try to sleep now. Don’t leave.”

 

“I won’t, not until you tell me too.”

 

“I wouldn’t count on that happening.” Bucky jokes, his voice dry and hoarse from crying. Steve gives him a gentle squeeze.

 

“Goodnight.” Steve whispers. Bucky rubs the arm wrapped around Bucky’s torso with his soft hand, up and down strokes with a soft touch.

 

“Goodnight, Steve.”

 

-

 

Steve wakes up the next morning with Maggie licking his face, and Bucky smiling at him. Steve lightly pushes Maggie away, wiping the dog slobber off.

 

“You just let that happen?” Steve sasses him, starting to get up to rinse his face off, when Bucky grabs his arm, keeping him in place.

 

“Wait, don’t go,” Bucky says, his voice not frantic and it came out as more of a request. Steve rolls his eyes, “I’m not leaving just yet, calm down. I’m just washing the slobber that you let get on my face, off.”

 

“Well, your company can be my punishment.” Bucky teases, earning a scowl that was totally manly and not on the verge of being a pout. He walked away and rinsed his face off, not even waiting for the water to heat up. He pats his face dry and then runs and jumps on the bed, crashing onto Bucky. Bucky lets out a squeak that was equally manly as Steve’s not-pout, and pushes Steve off. For a second, Steve thinks he messed up, triggered an episode, and rushes off him.  

 

“Oh shit, Bucky, I am so sorry!”

 

“Stop being such a mother hen and calm down, Jesus.”

 

Steve plops back down, and lays next to Bucky, facing him, and yearning to fix the stray hair that is in dire need of pushing back.

 

“Are you feeling better?”

 

“Yeah. I am, and honestly, it helped me realize some things.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“How I don’t want to lose you. How I don’t want to waste anymore time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“This.” Bucky rested a hand on Steve’s cheek, and then leaned in, pressing his mouth against Steve’s. For a moment, Steve is frozen, this just came out of nowhere. Steve kisses back, obviously. He’s thought about this moment since he was six-fucking-teen, and it’s everything he could’ve  wanted or imagined but more. He couldn’t have been able to conjure up the feeling of Bucky’s warm soft lips, his morning breath that isn’t exactly pleasant but it’s Bucky, and Steve’s breath probably smells too. Steve pulls Bucky closer, tangling their limbs together, and deepening the kiss. It’s everything, and yet he keeps on kissing him trying to see if he can find more.

 

Steve pulls away after awhile, who knows how long they’ve been kissing, with a smile on his face. He’s a bit speechless, unsure of what to say.

 

“You.. you. Uh.” Steve tries to access the part of his brain that doesn't constantly scream 'bucky!' over and over again, and use the part that forms actual words. He fails at this.

 

“Cat got your tongue?” Bucky teases him, raising his eyebrow.

 

“No, you got my tongue.” Steve retorts.

 

“Is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?" Bucky's face falls, and Steve rushes to touch him, to make sure he knows everything is okay.

 

"No! Of course not. Bucky. That was more than okay."

 

"Do you... feel the same way? Because, I don't want you to do this if you pity me, or something."

 

"You have no idea, how much I want you. How long I wanted this. It's not pity." Steve assures him, cradling Bucky's face in his hands, rubbing his cheekbone back and forth in a soothing motion. Bucky leans into the touch, looking at Steve with eyes filled with gratitude and love. Bucky plunged forward again, dragging Steve into a kiss much deeper and more filled with hunger than the last. He pulls away quickly, making Steve whine a bit at the loss of contact.

 

"Hold on, I gotta kick Maggie out." Bucky gets up, and walks outside his bedroom, clicking his tongue.

 

"C'mere baby girl!" He claps his hands and clicks his tongue some more, and Maggie gets off the bed, tail wagging excitedly. Bucky pets her and walks back into his room, shutting the door before Maggie could enter again.

 

"She's going to hate you," Steve teases, watching the way Bucky rolls his eyes and waves it off, like he didn't just kick the dog out so they could have sex in private. Steve finds the gesture kind of gross, but the eyeroll very cute.

"Whatever. We gotta make up for lost time." Bucky crawls back onto the bed, making his way on top of Steve to straddle his hips, placing his hands on Steve's shoulders.

 

"What do you mean?" Steve asks, wanting to hear Bucky say it, his heart racing.

 

"I mean the 80 years I spent wanting you, and not having you. That's what I mean."  

 

-

 

Bucky wanted to make Steve a nice dinner, saying how it’s a surprise as he pushed Steve out of the house with Maggie on a leash.

 

“I guess this makes up for this morning, huh baby girl?” Steve talks to Maggie, who unsurprisingly says nothing. Steve makes his way down the road, and he feels so damn happy he’s sure he has a skip in his step.

 

Bucky wants him. Bucky probably loves him, even if they haven’t said it yet. It’s okay though, they don’t need to. All this time, thinking that he was a bad person for feeling the way he does about Bucky, hating himself and wanting it to all go away, and Bucky feels the same way. They’ve wasted so much time, but better late than never. There’s no reason to beat himself up over it, and when he thinks that, he imagines Amina would be proud of him for not dwelling on the past. Some therapy shit like that.

 

He runs in Dianne. She greets him with a warm smile, waving at him. He smiles back, and for the first time, it’s not completely fake.

 

“Hey!” Dianne greets him, stopping in her place.

 

“Hey. How are you?” Steve asks. Dianne smiles at him, reaching down to pet Maggie.

 

“I’m good! Yeah, I’m good. How are you? You look good. Like, happy.” Dianne comments.  


“I’m doing great, actually, thank you. Will kicked me out because he’s making me a surprise dinner. So, I’m talking Maggie on a quick little walk. You wanna join us?” Steve offers, just to be nice. There’s no harm in making some friends, right? Dianne had been so nice to them, inviting them to dinner and their barbecue, it feels impolite to not do the same.

 

“Sure.” She says with another smile, she never seems to run out of those. Steve starts to walk, and she stays next to him, walking step in step with him.

 

“So, what’s got you so happy? Anything exciting happening.”  


“Just Will. Things are just really looking up right now.”  


“Were things not going good between the two of you?”

  
“No. Not like that. I guess I’m finally feeling like I’m fitting in, you know?” Steve answers, trying to keep it short but not too uninformed. He doesn’t exactly like being vulnerable with people, but Dianne is the first person besides Bucky that he’s talked to since this morning, and she’s an easy person to talk to.  


“Yeah, I get the feeling.”

 

“Anything new with you?”  


“Well you know, dumb mom stuff. Kayla wants to play soccer, and I’m officially a soccer mom. I never thought it would happen, but here I am every wednesday, taking her to soccer practice in my Honda minivan.”  


“Not really what you expected from your life?”

 

“No, not like that. I guess, I’m not really a PTA mom type, you know. I believe in vaccinations and I voted for Hillary even though nearly everyone in this neighbourhood voted for Trump, and you know. I just. I want to be a good mom. I didn’t think I would ever be a mom, and then I met Noah, and I just thought; this man. This is the man I want to create a life with.”

 

“Will’s always been it for me, but you know. It wasn’t always easy, accepting myself. Where I come from, it’s not something you talk about, two men together. So, I never really thought I could have a life with him, and now that I do. I just. I’m so happy.”  


“You want kids?”  


“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it, but I don’t know if we’re ready for it. Maybe one day.”

 

“Well, if you ever want a taste of having kids, I could always use a babysitter.”  


“I see what you’re doing, and it’s working.” Steve joked, looking over at her with teasing eyes. She laughs, shaking her head.

 

“I’m serious! Me and Noah haven’t had a date night in _forever._ Look, the offers there. As much as I love having a fifteen year old as a babysitter, I’m sure you’ll get more out of it than she will.”

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

“Alright, well. I gotta go. Nice talking to you.”

 

-

 

Steve comes home, his heart jumps a bit at the fact that he can even say _home,_ about an a half hour later, the kitchen smelling like chicken and cooked vegetables. The table already had the plates all set up, with two unlit candles as decoration.

 

“Hey baby,” Bucky greets him, leaning on the counter and wearing an apron, which, shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. Steve unclaspes Maggie’s leash, watching her run up to her water bowl. Steve walks into the kitchen, giving Bucky a quick peck on the lips, Bucky is smiling when he looks back at him.

 

“Is that steak?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, I got the recipe from Noah, you know? We couldn’t afford it back then, and I wanted to spoil ya. Now shoo, you’re home too early.”  


“Can’t I just hang out with my best guy?”  


“Don’t pull that card on me, you know I’ll never be able to resist.” Bucky points the tongs at Steve threateningly, but Steve only laughs at him. Bucky scowls even harder, but gives up on the tough guy act and starts smiling too.

 

“That’s why I did it.” Steve smirks at him, and Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve gives him another kiss, letting it be longer this time, before pulling away to grab his sketchbook that laid on the couch.

 

“If I had known you were gonna be here, I wouldn’t of worn anything under this apron.” Bucky tells him, and Steve flushes a bit at the thought.

 

“Now, don’t be a tease.”  


“Next time, babe.” Bucky promises, flipping the steak. Steve hops up on the counter next to the sink, thinking back on times he used to do this back in Brooklyn, when he was small. Bucky pulls away from the stove, moving into Steve’s space, grabbing the sketchbook out of Steve’s hand and placing it to the side. He moves to grab Steve’s face, cupping his cheek, moving in to kiss him.

 

They stay there, lazily kissing for maybe a minute or two, soaking in each other’s warm through their lips and their hands.

 

“Baby, the steak.” Steve taps Bucky’s shoulder and points, and Bucky jumps back, giving out a small “oh shit” before moving the steak off the burner. He pulls a pan of cooked carrots and broccoli out of the stove with his metal hand and moves it onto the counter, getting busy and moving around the kitchen, grabbing serving plates.

 

“Guess the hand did come in handy.” Steve comments, and Bucky gives him a look.  


“Yeah, because that’s what Hydra was thinking when they gave me the metal hand, I can take cooked vegetables out of the oven without a mit.” Bucky sasses him, rolling his eyes and moving the food onto their rightful plates.  


“Right.”

 

“Go sit. Before I start to get sick of ya ugly mug and lose my appetite.” Bucky shoos him over towards the dinner table, and Steve happily obliges, feeling all warm and happy. Bucky comes over about a minute later, juggling plates with steak, mashed potatoes, and cooked vegetables. Bucky lights the candle after setting them down, and then goes to sit in his own chair that sat across from Steve.

 

“Looks good.”  


“Well, let’s just hope it tastes good too.”  


“Only one way to find out.”

 

Dinner is delicious, but then again Bucky could serve Steve Maggie’s dog food and Steve would still eat it up like nobody’s business. Bucky’s foot found Steve’s under the table and Bucky held his hand through the entire dinner, rubbing soothing motions onto the back of Steve’s hand.

 

“You know, this is technically our first date.” Bucky comments after a small comfortable lapse of silence had passed. Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

“Technically?”  


“Well, you know there were those dumb double dates I dragged you onto. If I’m being honest, it was kind of for selfish reasons. I guess, I wanted it to feel like I was goin’ on a date with _you_ , even though I know I was with someone else. It was really the only way to do it back then.”

 

“I.. I didn’t know.”  


“Well I’m telling you now. I was pretty hung up on you, if I’m being honest.”  


“Me too.” Steve nearly whispers, giving Bucky’s hand a tight squeeze. Bucky leans over to give him a quick peck before cleaning up their now empty plates, and Steve hits his hand, making Bucky back off.

 

“Let me, you cooked.” Steve gets up, grabbing the plates out of Bucky’s hand.

 

“Fine by me.” Bucky says and goes towards the kitchen to clean up there. Bucky finishes up before Steve, settling on the couch and waiting for Steve with open arms. Steve joined him a couple minutes later. Bucky was stretched out, laying with his back against the armrest and with his legs stretched out.

 

"Oh no, where will I ever sit?" Steve teases, faking innocence. Bucky raised an eyebrow and smirked at Steve, the same one that he used on the dames in Brooklyn all those years ago.

 

"I can think of a few places." Bucky said in a low voice, tapping his thighs. Steve crawled on top of Bucky, laying a head on his chest, and Bucky wrapped an arm around him, tucking Steve underneath Bucky's chin.

 

Bucky kissed the top of Steve's head. "I like that I get to do this now."

 

“I like that you get to do it to.” Steve smiled up at him, unable to stop doing that around Bucky anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I told you it was bad  
> other things i was going to include:
> 
> -walking maggie  
> -cooking  
> -couch/movie night cuddles  
> -sam is like ….. Hmhmmmmm interestinggg  
> -i think bucky needs to have a nightmare and steve comforts him to show the like change in their relationship and how steve comforts him  
> -amina is like… okay finally lol  
> -bad days :(  
> -Steve also having a nightmare  
> -PET NAMES!!!!!!! Baby, babe, sweetie, honey,  
> -the hand in the back pocket  
> -sam is like “im happy for yall but please stop its grossing me out” and then Bucky calls him a homophobe as a joke and then Sam calls him a racist as a joke  
> -Sam and Bucky friendship is everything  
> -Amina vaguely mentions having a wife
> 
> my tumblr is dittywitty and my twitter is buckorunski come cry about steve and bucky with me


End file.
